


if we were made of water

by dabmaster420



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, island living babey, john silver experiences human emotions and attempts to beat them back with a stick, the whole gang is there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2020-09-06 01:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20283235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabmaster420/pseuds/dabmaster420
Summary: Silver enjoyed living on a tropical island. He enjoyed the sun and the complete lack of winter, he enjoyed the beach and the shallow turquoise waters, and he enjoyed being apart of a small community that wouldn't judge him when he smoked weed on his front porch. Well, most of the community anyway.-Silver is a bad neighbor. Flint is judgy. Island living isn't as stress-free as it seems. Somehow, there's always Jimmy Buffet playing.





	1. wasting away again

**Author's Note:**

> You know black sails is good because it's got me writing fanfic for the first time since i was like, 12. This is quite short, but hopefully, once uni calms down a little I can write more! not beta'd so apologies for mistakes. 
> 
> Playlist: [[x](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/17nSrvhuySyK3xB3wVj6WI)]
> 
> Come heckle me on [tumblr](https://australianandafraid.tumblr.com/)

Silver enjoyed living on a tropical island. He enjoyed the sun and the complete lack of winter, he enjoyed the beach and the shallow turquoise waters, and he enjoyed being apart of a small community that wouldn't judge him when he smoked weed on his front porch. Well, most of the community anyway.

He had just taken a hit, bong balanced in his lap, when he looked up and noticed the particularly judgy face of his neighbor, Flint. 

Silver coughed up peals of smoke in surprise, and Flint looked unimpressed when clouds floated by his face, waving boredly at them with his hand. 

"It's medicinal," Silver wheezed, feeling the need to defend himself as he sat the bong and lighter on the porch table. Actually, Silver had bought the quarter-ounce at a discount from Rackham in exchange for a batch of double chocolate brownies. Flint didn't need to know that though. 

"I'm sure," said Flint, face still stuck in his usual scowl that Silver had never not seen grace his features. 

"Did you need something?" Silver asked, returning to his abandoned beer and hoping his eyes weren't too red. "You realize you're at my house?" 

Flint gave a prolonged look around, like he had all the time in the fucking world, and then back to Silver.

"Yeah, I realize," 

Silver groaned, knocking his head back against his chair. He wasn't entirely sure what he'd done to the man other that exist in general and occasionally consume illegal substances, (and there was that one time he had set off fireworks in his backyard, but in his defense he thought Flint hadn't been home. He had been) but Flint seemed to enjoy the little game they had established between them, of pulling Silver along to his great annoyance and curiosity. 

Silver, despite himself, enjoyed it too.

A sharp smirk flitted across Flint's face, almost too quick for Silver to catch in the dimness of the porch light before he crossed his arms and leaned against the stair railing. 

"I need a favor," Flint said, the words coming out of his mouth like they tasted bad. 

Silver raised an eyebrow.

"Beg pardon?" he shifted, lacing his hands together behind his head and kicking his feet up on the table, revelling in the fact that Flint ‘I didn't even ask for help when my boat capsized I just paddled the hull into the bay and then went and had lunch', was asking him, ‘one time I was too drunk to walk home so I crawled into a bush to sleep and the next morning the whole town assumed I was dead' Silver, for a favor. 

"I think you heard me," Flint grunted, and Silver wondered how far he would have to push him before his cheeks went pink in a way Silver found terribly endearing. 

"I don't think I did," Silver lied, taking a leisurely sip of his beer, pulling off with an obnoxious ‘ahhhh'. 

Flint looked like he was about to grab the bottle and then smash it over Silver's head. Not a terrible way to go, Silver rationed. Certainly dramatic, and that's all he could really hope for. 

Flint pushed himself off the stair railing and took three deliberate steps forward until he was looming threateningly over Silver. Silver smiled pleasantly up at him. 

"I need a favor," Flint ground out again, and then held up a hand, closing his eyes and sighing. "And if you gloat, I swear to god I will suplex you through this fucking porch," 

"Don't threaten me with a good time," replied Silver, though he deflated a little. He didn't doubt Flint was capable of carrying out a number of any threats, and he wasn't interested in making an enemy of him, even though the idea of lording over his grouchy neighbor was horribly tempting. 

Flint opened his eyes to glare at Silver, who heaved out a sigh. 

"What was it you needed?" 

"I need a recipe. The red snapper dish that was on last season's menu at the tavern? That one," 

Silver couldn't help the look of surprise that crossed his face. He had assumed that it was going to be something a lot more dramatic, like burying a body, or breaking and entering. Flint had that sort of vibe. But a recipe was remarkably ordinary. 

"That's it? A recipe?" Silver asked and Flint reluctantly nodded. If Silver actually knew the man, he would have said he had looked shy, or perhaps bashful, though it could have also just been the physical pain he was experiencing from asking Silver for help. 

"Yeah, I can do that," said Silver and Flint let out a breath, as though he had actually been expecting Silver to deny him. "Hang on, I've got a copy inside," 

Silver felt around the side of his chair for his crutch, brain still fuzzy and disoriented as he waved his hand around. 

After a few seconds of fruitless labor, Flint moved forward and grabbed the crutch from against the wall and passed it to Silver. Silver tapped it to his forehead in a mock salute, then stood and made his way inside, assuming that Flint would follow. 

Thankfully, Silver had cleaned his house the previous day, maybe driven by some premonition that Flint would be seeing it, and Silver felt like doing a fist pump. He loved yesterday Silver, yesterday Silver was the best. 

He had a copy of all the recipes from the tavern, old and current and ones that had never actually made it to the menu, just for himself and to sometimes work on if he felt they could use mixing up. He had them all stuffed in a manila folder in a cupboard in the kitchen, and busied himself with pulling it out and finding the one Flint wanted. 

He could see Flint in the corner of his eye, standing awkwardly just inside the front door, looking like he wasn't sure if he was allowed further in. 

"Stop being so weird, you're allowed to come in. Do you want a beer?" Silver asked, and Flint seemed to jump at his question, as though the thought of Silver being a fucking hospitable host was far beyond the realms of his imaginings.

"Uh, no. Thank you," Flint replied after a second, though he did, to Silver's pleasure, move further into the house, standing in front of the cabinet that doubled as a bookcase and liquor shelf, no doubt perusing the small collection of photo's Silver had displayed. Luckily, the worst photo there was of last Halloween, when they had all dressed up as pirates for some completely fucking incomprehensible reason. Silver had even fashioned himself a partly functioning peg leg, which turned out to be a very bad idea. He had slipped down a ditch and bruised his still existing ankle, which resulted in various people having to carry him around for the rest of the night because he refused to stop partying. Everything else, he couldn't much remember, truthfully. 

"I remember this," said Flint, motioning to the Halloween photo. In it, Silver was being carried bridal style by Rackham, holding onto his pirate hat and pointing off into the distance as if to steer Rackham there, while Rackham had his eyes closed and mouth open as he sang loudly some song that must have been playing. In the background, Vane for some reason was shirtless and brandishing a palm leaf that was on fire. 

"You do? That makes one of us," Replied Silver, finally locating the recipe and pulling it from the folder. He gave it a perfunctory read over to make sure it was as he remembered and then turned to Flint. 

"Yeah. Featherstone came pounding on my door at 5 in the morning, saying that it was his house and insisted that I leave immediately. When I tried explaining that it was my house and he was confused he started crying and went to sleep on my doormat," Flint said, and Silver spluttered out a laugh. 

"Actually, that's not that surprising. Once when he was drunk Featherstone tried to convince me that I was wearing his shirt and to take it off and give it to him. It's a strange pattern," something like a smile crept over Flint's face and he held out his hand to accept to the recipe from Silver. 

"If you don't mind me asking, what's this for? Do you just miss my cooking that much?" Silver asked and Flint scowled again, raising an eyebrow. 

"Hardly," he cleared his throat, looking back to the set of photos, settling on a picture of Silver and Madi, holding up ridiculous cocktails and trying their best to look fancy. The picture always made Silver feel a pang of sadness, or maybe nostalgia, but he kept it up anyway. "An old friend is visiting. They're a pescetarian. So," Flint idly waved the recipe, "Fish," 

"They're pesky tarragon?" Silver asked, confused and Flint sighed. 

"Pescetarian. It means they eat fish but not other meat. My god, you should really know this, you're a cook," Flint explained and Silver shrugged, throwing his hands out. 

"I think that's a bit harsh. And should I feel flattered that you want this particular recipe or not? You could have just Googled one. But I think," Silver pointed at Flint, who leveled him with a glare. "You enjoy my cooking," 

"I enjoy the recipes at the inn," Flint corrected and Silver flapped his hand. 

"Exactly! I make the recipes!" He replied and Flint sighed again. Did that make three sighs since he had arrived on Silver's porch?

"My god, whatever. Can I leave now?" 

"Not until you admit you enjoy my cooking," Silver said and then subsequently wished he had the ability to melt into a puddle of goo at will from the look Flint shot him. "Or not. It's fine. Off you trot,"

"That's what I thought," Flint sniffed, making his way to the front door. Silver followed belatedly behind and stepped out onto the porch to see Flint already down on the pathway. 

The moonlight seemed to make his pale skin glow, turning his freckled shoulders into molten silver. Silver stood for a moment, enraptured by the sight, or maybe just high, at the way the soft breeze played at the strands of hair that were loose from Flint's tie, the deep auburn catching the yellow tint of the porch light like fire. 

Flint cleared his throat. 

"Huh?" Silver said and Flint shook his head, bemused. 

"Jesus, how high are you?"

"High? I would never do drugs," Silver replied and Flint, to his surprise, actually laughed, a low and deep noise that Silver could almost feel deep in his gut. 

Flint turned and began walking away, his figure slowly morphing into darkness. 

"Where's my thank you?" Silver yelled after him, to no reply, but he thought maybe for a second he saw Flint turn and the sharp white of his teeth as he smiled before he was gone completely. 

"Ah, fuck," cursed Silver, flopping back down onto the porch chair and retrieving his bong. He needed more drugs to deal with this shit. 

\- 

The next day saw Silver standing in his back garden, clad only in shorts, idly going over his pride and joy, a sprawling collection of potted herbs and the occasional vegetable. Silver wondered if it was too early to have a beer as he checked his watch, sighing. It was just past lunchtime, and all wind had ceased, stillness settling over the island like a warm blanket. His stump was beginning to ache in his artificial leg. Everything pointed to a storm coming and when Silver craned his head to look out towards the ocean, the horizon was shaded with the darkness of clouds heavy with rain. He idly scratched at his exposed belly and crouched next down to his bell peppers, picking off one or two that were ripe and placing them in a little wicker basket he kept for carting vegetables. He looked back out towards the ocean. 

The midday ferry would have just arrived back from the mainland and he thought of Flint, casual and confident in the skipper's seat, and the unexpected scene that had played out last night. Silver wouldn't deny that he was intrigued by Flint, had been ever since he had moved to the island around a year ago, and had first sat in the empty seat at the front of the ferry and snuck looks back to the intense and strangely solemn man behind the wheel. That intrigue had only grown when he had moved into the rundown shack next door to the said man, and all his advances to know him were steadfastly denied. 

Silver never had difficulty making friends or worming his way into confidence with either charm or persistence, so he felt adrift with Flint, constantly unsure where he stood and it drove him to distraction. He wondered if last night had been some kind of opening, some sort of advancement, but then he remembered the reluctant look of Flint's face and wondered differently. 

Before he could contemplate it more, he heard the back door of his house opening and turned around to see Max standing on the porch, sipping from one of the bottles of sparkling water he kept in the fridge for her. 

"Did you just invite yourself into my house?" he asked, standing up, cradling his precious bell peppers. 

"The door was open and you didn't answer when I knocked. I figured you'd be out here with your babies. You'd be very easy to rob, you know," said Max. 

"I live in a shack, Max, I doubt I'm high up on the island's robbery list," he replied, walking past her and shouldering open the fly-wire, heading towards the kitchen. 

Max hummed in acquiescence, watching as Silver rinsed his bell peppers in the sink and then reached into the fridge for a beer. She raised an eyebrow at him. 

"It's Saturday," he defended weakly, always feeling like a child being scolded when she pinned him with that look. "What are you doing here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be at the inn?" 

"I was," she said, sitting and folding her legs delicately next to Silver, who sprawled on the couch. The heat was becoming unbearable. The fans were whirring at full speed on the ceiling, the only reprieve from the stifling stillness. Silver's skin was tacky with sweat and he watched Max grumpily, noting that she didn't appear bothered in the least, her hairline perfectly dry, her dainty feet clad in cork wedges. Silver had no idea how the fuck she traipsed over the island all day in heels. He only owned one measly flip-flop and scuffed up Keds for work. He always found it funny that she was dating the only other person on the island who wore just as inappropriate shoes for the setting. Silver had never seen Anne Bonny in anything but combat boots, of all the things to wear on sandy terrain. He felt like seeing her barefoot would be like seeing something unnatural, or that maybe he would just instantly die, like staring into the eyes of a basilisk. But then Anne was dating Jack, who Silver had seen wear Teva's to a funeral…

"Are you going to ask me why I'm not at the inn?" Max asked and Silver realized he had been sitting in silence staring at Max's shoes. He could think about the weird compatibility of the island's resident polygamist's another time. 

(And he would. It was a fun pastime of Silvers. One time he had even drawn up a graph and shown it to Max. It was now stuck to her fridge.)

"Why aren't you at the inn?" Silver asked, slipping down on the couch, pressing his beer bottle to his neck, imagining he was someplace cold, or that he was rich enough to install an air conditioner. 

"I had a little visit from our friend this morning," said Max, a distasteful look on her face as she delicately sipped her sparkling water.

Silver was abruptly pulled from his air-conditioner fuelled heaven, leaning his head up to look at her. 

"What? Rogers came by again?" 

Max nodded, sighing, her impeccable posture slacking as she leaned back, tilting her head up to the ceiling. 

"I thought you told him to fuck off," Silver said, and Max shot him a look. 

"I did. That didn't seem to discourage him, apparently," Silver frowned, looking down at where he was picking the label off his beer. Although he had only lived on the island for a bit longer than a year, Woodes Rogers had managed to make himself highly unpopular to Silver in that year. Max had assured him that was normal for Rogers. 

"Does Eleanor know?" he asked and Max nodded. 

"Yes, but only because I went to her office right after. She didn't seem surprised. I suppose she did warn me he would be persistent,"

"Ok so, he came back. Tell him to fuck off again. He can't force you to sell," Silver said and Max fixed him with a stare.

"No, he can't. But he can shut us down other ways. That bastard has friends in lots of different places. And Eleanor can't help us because he's got her focusing all her assets on the divorce," Max said.

"Shit," sighed Silver. 

"I'll let Jack and Vane know. They won't be happy, but it's best if everyone is aware he might be making a move soon," Max said. "And Flint, too, I suppose," 

Silver paused where he was picking at his label. 

"You think Flint would help?"

"Flint dislikes Rogers as much as everyone else. He wasn't too happy with him after what he did to Eleanor. Could you tell him for me? I don't have his number," 

Silver looked up at her. 

"What? You want me to actually seek out Flint? Like, go to his house? Is this you telling me you want me to die?" he asked, sitting up and Max rolled her eyes. 

"I have other things to do today. Surely you can walk a few hundred meters over to your neighbor's, deliver a message and then leave, yes?" Silver sunk back down into the cushions, groaning. 

"Well, if I don't come into work tomorrow, you know what happened to me," he said and she patted his cheek lightly.

"So dramatic, mon cher. Now I must be off," she said, standing from the couch and walking over to the fridge. She pulled out two more bottles of sparkling water and stuffed them into her bag. 

"Is that why you came over here instead of just texting?" Silver asked, watching from the couch. 

"I have to go to Vane's next. The only thing he has in his fridge is rum and something called Muscle Milk. It doesn't even have milk in it," she sighed, slinging her bag over her shoulder. 

"Well, I'm not going to keep being your one-stop shop for that gross water you drink," Silver said, knowing he was lying as it came out of his mouth. Of course, the next time he went shopping he would buy more and neatly line it up in his fridge because he was a fucking nice dude like that. Max gave him a look over her shoulder that said she knew he was lying. 

"Au revoir," she blew him a kiss from the front door as she stepped outside. "Try not to anger Flint too much, yes?" with that she departed, the squeak of her heels fading as she headed off towards town. 

Silver quickly downed the rest of his beer. Alrighty. Two exchanges with Flint in two days, coming up. He looked down at himself. Step one: put a shirt on, maybe.

Step two: be killed by Flint for trespassing on private property, probably. 

Step three: haunt the island for the rest of existence. 

Satisfied with his plan, Silver pushed himself off the couch and went to his bedroom; trying to think what outfit he wanted to be stuck in for all eternity. 

-

For his upcoming stint as a ghost, Silver had chosen a tank that he had bought from a thrift store with the words ‘WOMEN WANT ME, FISH FEAR ME' written across the chest in blocky letters, and his love heart-shaped sunglasses. If he was dying he was doing it in style. 

"Oh my fuck," said Flint, upon opening the door. 

"You're one to talk," replied Silver, "I've seen you wear crocs before," 

Flint narrowed his eyes. 

"That was one time. My flip-flops broke," Flint said. 

"It's the fact that you even own them, Flint. Have some self-respect," they glared at each other for a moment, before Flint seemed to remember that Silver had actively come knocking at his door.

"I-uh," he began, clearing his throat. "I'm not done. With the recipe. I'll bring it back once I'm finished," Silver cocked his head, completely at loss, before realizing that Flint had no other reason for Silver to be over at his house. 

"Oh no, it's not that. Max sent me," 

"Max?" said Flint, frowning. "What does she want?" 

"It's more what she might want in the future. Apparently, our good friend Woodes Rogers stopped by the inn for a little chat this morning," said Silver and Flint paused where he was rubbing his hand over his well-trimmed beard. 

"Rogers? The fuck does he want?" 

"Same thing he wanted the first time,"

Flint sighed, going back to rubbing his beard. Silver wiggled his nose so that his glasses fell down a little, so he could watch over the rim as Flint's calloused fingers skimmed through the coarse hair. 

"Alright. Come in," Flint said, stepping back and holding the door open. 

Silver pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"Eh?"

"Come in," Flint repeated and then walked back into the house, letting Silver catch the fly-wire just before it swung shut. With only a second's hesitation, Silver followed, feeling something like excitement kindle in his gut. Which was stupid. It didn't mean anything. It didn't mean that Flint liked Silver, or trusted him or anything like that. Silver needed to stop looking for metaphors and symbolism in everything. A recipe was just a recipe. An invitation inside was just an invitation inside. Repeating this to himself, he followed Flint down a short hallway that was neat and strangely impersonal and into the living room. 

Silver didn't know what he had expected Flint's house to be like. Maybe he had been expecting some sort of glimpse into his mind, a hint of what hid behind the gruff exterior. He usually found that a person's house could hold many secrets, even if the person didn't realize it. Maybe Flint was leading him inside to his murder dungeon to finally make Silver beef it, which would at least give away some aspects of his personality.

Flint's house, however, was…functional. Tidy. Average. And that was just it. Apart from the overly stuffed bookshelf on the far wall, there wasn't anything that betrayed the fact that a person lived there. All the things needed were there, but it was like someone had furnished a house and then never moved in. There was a horrible solemness to the air, a pervasive loneliness that made Silver watch the back of Flint's head, the delicate curve of his ears and want to burrow into it, to try and unspool everything that was so tightly wound there. 

He had thought seeing Flint's house would let him in on something, let him catch a glimpse inside, like catching someone's eye in a reflection. But instead, it was like trying to look through fogged glass, only seeing shapes and color as they drift by. 

Silver was so absorbed by the atmosphere of the house, and the way Flint seemed to disappear into it that he jumped in surprise when Flint ducked his head into the kitchen and begun talking to someone. 

A moment later, a woman emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She had long dark hair that framed equally dark eyes, dressed in a long flowing dress, her bare feet small and perfectly manicured against the floorboards. 

Oh god, was Flint married? Did Flint have a secret wife that lived with him on the island that somehow no one knew about? Silver looked around, half expected a gaggle of children to start running about. Fuck, Flint was really taking secrecy to the next level.

"This is my friend, Miranda. She's visiting for a few days," Ah ok. Yes. That was much more plausible than ‘I have a wife and several children sequestered away in my house on this small island where everyone knows everyone and it's totally normal,'.

Miranda smiled, her warm eyes crinkling as she stepped forward and held out a pale and soft hand. Silver was suddenly very aware that he was wearing a shirt that said ‘WOMEN WANT ME, FISH FEAR ME'. He took off his sunglasses. 

"Lovely to meet you," said Miranda when Silver grasped her hand, noticing the contrast between her smooth skin and well-tended nails, and Silver's rough and calloused ones, with soil still clinging to the grooves of his knuckles from his time in the garden. 

"Uh yeah, you too," he replied belatedly, letting go of her hand. 

"Silver lives next door," supplied Flint, as Silver had seemingly forgotten all decorum, and Miranda turned to smile at him. 

"I know. You've mentioned," she said and Silver quirked an eyebrow. Oh? Was Silver so infamously a bad neighbor that Flint had complained liberally? He went to smirk at Flint but was surprised to find him looking on the verge of embarrassment, pink tinging his cheekbones. Silver didn't see why Flint was now being modest. He was certainly used to being complained about. 

"Miranda's a lawyer," Flint said like Silver had asked. 

"Uh, cool," Silver replied, awkwardly finger gunning. "Good stuff,"

Flint sighed, rubbing his temples, although he looked like he was trying not to smile. Miranda laughed. 

"Try again, James," she said, and Silver perked up. James. It suddenly struck him that he had no idea what Flint's first name was. It was always just…Flint.

James. It was a nice name. Soft. It settled gently next to the harsh strike of Flint. 

James. 

Silver hid it away to bring out again later, when he could try it out on his tongue, against his lips. It felt like a secret, unknowingly given. 

"You were saying, about Rogers. Miranda has a lot of experience with men like him. I'm sure Max would like to talk to her, if the need arises," Flint clarified and Silver wanted to rip off his prosthetic and beat himself to death with it. 

"Ah. Ok. Right," Silver said dumbly. 

"Here," Miranda fetched a pen and piece of paper from a desk in the corner and scribbled something on it. When she passed it to him, he saw that she had written her name and number on it, as well as an official-looking email. 

Miranda Barlow. Huh. 

"Wow. Uh, thanks. Max will really appreciate this," he said, slipping the piece of paper into his pocket. 

Miranda waved her hand. 

"It's nothing. I know how James feels about this Woodes Rogers. From what I know about him, I'm sure I feel the same," she said, smoothing down her dress with her hands. "On a nicer note, James is making me a special dinner tonight and I hear I have you to thank for that,"

Silver felt confused for a second, before remembering last night. 

"Oh! Is that was the recipe is for?" Silver grinned at Flint, who frowned back. "Well, if it turns out bad, at least you'll know whose fault it was. I am considered the best cook on the island," 

"You're the only cook on the island," interrupted Flint. 

"Incorrect! Have you forgotten our dear Randall?" the look on Flint's face said he clearly hadn't. The other cook at the inn was horribly taciturn and grumpy. Though he sure made dope as hell pancakes, Silver had to admit. 

Miranda was watching them with a strangely knowing look on her face, and upon noticing it, Flint cleared his throat and schooled his face. 

"I just suppose we'll have to go to the tavern, judge for ourselves," said Miranda, smiling. 

"Maybe," said Flint quickly, and she sighed. 

The exchange seemed familiar to them and as Miranda looked over her shoulder at Flint, saying something with her eyes, Silver felt like he was intruding. 

He cleared his throat. 

"Uh, anyway. That's all I came by to say. I'll pass on your details to Max," he said and Flint and Miranda seemed to snap out of their silent conversation, both turning to look at him. 

"Please do. Perhaps I'll see you again before I leave," she said it like she was sure of it, Flint be damned. Silver decided he liked Miranda. 

"I'll show you back out," said Flint and the two had another brief silent battle with their eyes before Flint started walking towards the door.

"Nice to meet you," Silver said, stumbling to follow Flint who moved quickly from the room. 

"You too," said Miranda and Silver managed a wave before he was suddenly back on the front porch next to Flint, feeling entirely different than he did when he had arrived. They stood in silence for a second, and Silver noticed that a breeze had started up, carrying the distinct smell of rain and saltwater. 

"Storm tonight," he found himself saying, wanting to stand a moment longer with Flint. James. 

Flint nodded. 

"Will your leg be alright?" he said, and Silver turned to look at him in surprise. Flint looked down at his feet, and then up at Silver from under his eyelashes, tense, like he hadn't expected himself to say it. 

"I, uh, knew a man in the navy who'd lost his arm. He always said it ached like nothing else when there was a storm," he squinted back down at his feet, as though he was studying something interesting.

Silver's leg was already a steady throb of pain, bearable for now, but would undoubtedly be worse when the storm hit. He didn't want to think about that though. 

"It'll be ok," he said, smiling at Flint. "It's just a storm," 

Flint caught his gaze, and then slowly nodded. 

"Of course," they lapsed back into silence and Silver, feeling that he couldn't keep lingering made his way down the porch steps. When he reached the bottom, he turned back to look up at Flint. 

"Thank you. For you know, asking Miranda," he said, feeling strangely small with Flint looking down on him. Or maybe he felt too big, like he couldn't escape his stare. 

"I'd been thinking about asking her for a while," Flint admitted, looking up at the horizon and shading his eyes. "Rogers is a problem. If he doesn't back down…I'm not sure there's a way out of this one," 

Silver, to both their surprise, laughed. 

"Take it from me," he said, smiling. "There's always a way," with that, he nodded at Flint and walked away, putting his sunglasses back on as he faced the sun. He didn't look back for a minute, before the urge to overwhelmed him and he turned his head. Flint was still on the porch. He didn't move when Silver looked back, catching him watching, and Silver shivered, feeling the weight of his gaze before forcing himself to face forward and continue. He didn't look back again, but he felt the burn of Flint's eyes all the way back to his house. 

-

Silver rose before the sun the next day, jolting awake at 3 am from a nightmare in which he was seated in a chair in front of a TV, in an otherwise dark and empty room. When he closed his eyes, he could still see what was on the TV, and no matter if he covered his face with his hands or arms he could always still see the woman on the screen, who stared at him unblinking, endlessly, her mouth a gaping maw, the room ringing with continuous static. She slowly moved forward, starting as a speck on the screen, continuously coming closer, until all he could see was her face, twisted and gruesome. Silver awoke just as he was sure she would pass through the TV and stand before him, panting and covered in sweat.

The tin roof pounded with rain, the promised storm, and a deafening bolt of lighting sounded what could have only been feet from Silver's house. Disoriented, he pushed himself up with shaking arms, gulping in breaths of air. As he shed the remnants of sleep, the overpowering pain of his leg began catching up to him and he groaned, holding it at the knee. 

Fumbling in the dark, he turned on his bedside lamp and groaned again when nothing happened. No wonder he was so fucking hot. The damn power had gone out, as it was wont to do in storms. Or in normal weather. Or whenever it fucking felt like it.

He pushed off the bit of sheet that was still clinging to his naked body and laid back, breathing deeply through his nose. 

Tits. 

He lay for a few more minutes, trying to will himself back to sleep until the pain in his leg compelled him to get up and find something to remedy it. Using the torch on his phone, he crutched into the kitchen and fumbled through what he considered his ‘first aid' draw. Really it was just a jumbled mess of bandaids, loose sheets of painkillers and his Tupperware container of weed. He downed two aspirin and two ibuprofens with a glass of water that was sitting on the bench and then made the painful journey back to the bedroom, halfway opening the window next to his bed to allow the wind in, but not enough so that the water would come through. 

He managed to doze, floating between wakefulness and sleep for almost an hour, the loud pounding of the rain, the pain in his leg and the sticky heat keeping him from drifting off completely. He was considering crawling out of bed and dragging himself, naked and pathetic, into the back garden to lay on the grass and let the rain water him like he was a plant when the power flickered back on. 

He breathed a sigh of relief as the ceiling fan began to whir, cooling the sweat on his skin. Outside, the worst of the storm had started to move off, a few seconds now between each flash of lightning and the responding peal of thunder. The light from the bedside lamp, now on, cast the room in dim yellow light, the color of a soft flame. 

He suddenly thought about texting Madi, the longing coming upon him like a wave. Madi had always loved storms. Silver could almost see her, curled up on the other side of the bed, in a deep and dreamless sleep, the way she always slept when it rained, like it was a lullaby Silver couldn't hear. 

Sometimes he missed her so much his teeth hurt. 

He would text her later, he decided. He would send her a picture of how his marjoram was going. She'd like that. 

Sighing, Silver pushed himself out of bed and sat on the edge, rubbing his eyes. It was a bit past four. He had to be at the inn at six. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep now that he'd gone down that avenue of thought. 

He'd shower instead, rinse away the sweat and the lingering grasp of his nightmare and think about regular stuff, like what kind of muffins he was going to make, and if Billy Bones would do his post-jog stretches conveniently outside of the inn so that he and Idelle could watch. Regular shit. He could do that.

\- 

He decided on orange and poppy seed muffins, and Billy Bones, to his excitement, did a yoga set in addition to his regular stretches. He whipped up pancakes and fried eggs and thought about regular shit. He wasn't going to have a breakdown because storms made his leg ache like a bitch and reminded him of his ex-girlfriend. He was a fucking chill dude. And that was that on that. 

That mantra got him through his shift until he was yelling in his head ‘YOU'RE A FUCKING CHILL DUDE' so loud he didn't even notice when Randall arrived to relieve him. 

He walked home in the light drizzle, not bothering to get out his umbrella, taking the back streets out of the town center, confident that he wouldn't be able to stop himself punching a tourist if one accosted him. 

He was thinking about getting home, strapping icepacks to his entire body and then retiring to his bed for the next cycle of the sun when he passed by Flint's house. Silver wondered if he was home, and what he was doing. 

He thought about the strangely empty inside, and it filled him with sadness, at the image of Flint, haunting like a ghost in his own house, at the loneliness of it. He wondered if Flint even realized. 

He finally made it home, the three steps up his porch feeling like a mountain and he banged through his front door with more force than was strictly necessary. 

He was heading for the fridge, looking to drink his body weight in cold water when he stopped dead. 

"You probably shouldn't leave your door open, you know," said the figure on the couch, "You never know who might come knocking,"

Silver was proud of himself for not turning and walking straight back outside. Instead, he took a steadying breath and continued his journey to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. He frowned at the line of empty beer bottles on the fridge. 

"I hope you're going to replace those," he said, taking a measured drink and then turning to face the couch. 

"I figured you owe me," said Hands, finishing off another beer, surveying Silver with his cool, piercing eyes. 

"I don't owe you shit," Silver said, leaning back against the kitchen counter, trying to seem casual and not belay the panic that was growing in his chest and making it's way up to his throat. 

God, what the fuck was Hands doing here? Four years he'd managed to keep clear of that shit, managed to actually convince himself he'd shook it off, that he wouldn't have to worry about a very unwelcome blast from the past in the form of fucking Israel Hands.

"That so? I seem to remember different," said Hands.

"I squared my debts. I made sure of that. Now either tell me why you're here or kindly fuck off," Silver ground out.

Hands stood, sighing and moved about the room, looking it over in a way that made Silver's skin crawl. 

"I've got a job for you. Simple, easy. And there's…" Hands picked up the photo of Silver and Madi. Silver wanted to wrestle it from him, could almost see the blackness seeping from his fingers into the frame, contaminating the happiness there. 

Hands put down the photo, turning to Silver. 

"There's a generous reward. If you accept,"

Silver paused. 

"How generous?" he asked before he could stop himself, cringing at the look on Hands face, like he knew he had ensnared Silver. Silver felt sick with himself. For all he thought he had put it behind him, that he wasn't what he used to be, and the mere mention of money had him crumbling like a sandcastle in the tide. 

But…he thought of what Max had told him the previous day. If they had enough money, maybe…

"Very," Hands said simply. Hands wasn't known to exaggerate. 

"Hypothetically…" Silver began, and Hands smiled. Silver held his hand up. "Hypothetically. I'm not agreeing to anything. If I did this, you would leave me alone? For good? I would never hear from you again?"

"Never,"

"Alright," he said, nodding. He looked around at his shitty shack. He thought about Max, about Eleanor, about Anne and Jack and Vane and everyone else, and he thought about them losing everything they'd worked for, the island, their island because some rich asshole wanted it for himself. 

He thought about Madi and how proud she was that he had made a life here, friends and a job, created something he might tentatively call home if he really knew what that was. 

He thought about Flint. He thought about never seeing him again, about the way he had looked in the moonlight. He thought about ships passing in the night, things ending before they'd begun. 

He took a deep breath.

"So…what's the job?"


	2. i could go there (but i don't)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silver goes on an outing with Jack and Anne. Trivia night gets a bit out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew, this chapter got away from me a tad. thank you so SO much to everyone who gave kudos or commented they were all so lovely and encouraging and i read them all ten times each with a big dumb smile on my face. i hope you enjoy! (again not beta'd so apologies for mistakes)
> 
> playlist [[x](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6emRmXBTASL1eTzOBXbLkj?si=34OuR_jfSJWB3DRG-0iPGw)] (not jimmy buffet this time i promise) 
> 
> heckle me on [tumblr](https://australianandafraid.tumblr.com/)

Silver was nervous. A horrible, aching nervousness that chewed on his insides and made his arms shake and his mouth go dry. He hadn’t been this nervous since he had first been introduced to Charles Vane and then promptly left alone in a room with him while he smoked a cigar and sharpened a knife. He was still annoyed at Max about that. 

He walked around in a daze after the visit from Hands, stumbling through the following week, distracted and jumpy, on edge and paranoid. Hands hadn’t said when he’d be back. He’d just left with a promise that he would be and disappeared again, leaving his shadow hanging over Silver’s house like a bad smell. 

Silver had agreed to look over the job and nothing else. That was a small comfort, and he felt shame beneath the nervousness, dark and hot, ashamed at himself for even letting Hands speak. He should have thrown him out the second he saw him. 

But he hadn’t. He’d have to live with that now. 

Every day that he woke up or returned home and didn’t find Hands waiting on his couch just made him more anxious, more aware that something lurked outside of his sight and he wished Hands had left something, any way for Silver to contact him so he wasn’t suspended in eternal anxiety and agony. 

He wondered if Hands had known where he was all along. Kept tabs, a watchful eye, let Silver go because he always knew he could get him back, keeping him in reserve like a trump card. 

Silver didn’t want to think about that possibility too much. The idea that his life for the past four years was due to his leash being slackened and not severed like he’d thought…it was something he couldn’t think about sober. Or at all. 

It was Thursday, four days since Hands had appeared and Silver was just done with a lunch shift. Work had been the only reprieve from his constant state of agitation. The familiarity of the cooking allowed him to retreat into something of a thoughtless state, watching his hands move from outside himself, all that existed was what he could see before him. 

He would work through his breaks or pick up extra shifts if it wouldn’t worry Max, and the last thing he needed was someone knowing something was wrong or trying to interfere. He preferred to work through his emotional traumas internally, thank you very much. 

In his desperation, he’d bummed a cigarette from Vane. 

He walked the couple hundred metres from the inn to the docks, wanting to hear the water and maybe dip his feet. Foot. 

He sat, legs hanging off the edge off the jetty and lit up, sweat already beading on his forehead from the short walk and the relentless sun, and he wanted to strip off his shirt and dive into the water. Maybe later. He’d finish his cigarette first.

He eyed the boats anchored in the dock, looking for one in particular. He spied The Ranger, the small sailboat that was shared between Jack, Vane and Anne. The mock jolly-roger they had on their mast waved jauntily in the breeze. Next time they went fishing, maybe he’d ask them if they could get some red snapper. 

The spot next to it was empty. The Walrus was out with its owner, somewhere on the water, though what Flint did out there Silver had no idea. He didn’t think the man fished. Maybe he just sought the solitude of the water and the sky above it, the illusion of being alone in the world. He wondered if Miranda was still here and if she was out with Flint. He could almost see the two of them, Flint moving like one born to the water, Miranda’s long, dark hair flying in the wind like a flag. 

He had almost finished his cigarette and was about to grind it out on the pole next to him when he heard a loud ‘HEY, FUCKER’ and the roar of a motorbike pulling up close to him. He jerked in surprise, his cigarette flying from his fingers and landing in the water as Jack kicked out his bike stand and jumped off. On the back seat, Anne was wearing her customary hat and looking bored. 

“No,” moaned Silver, leaning forward and watching the remains of his cigarette float in the waves. He glared up at Jack. “You bastard,”

Jack held his arms out.

“What did I do?”

“Made me drop my cigarette,” sighed Silver, looking back towards it. “Now I feel terrible. I hate littering,” 

“I’ll grab it,” said Jack. He shed his pink, silk blouse that he had definitely stolen from Max’s wardrobe, kicked off his flip-flops and promptly jumped in.

“Damnit, Jack!” yelled Anne from where she was still sitting on the bike. Jack emerged from underwater, shaking his head like a dog, and then paddled over to the cigarette, holding it up triumphantly. 

“What up, buttercup?” he asked, floating over to Silver, handing him the cigarette. Silver deposited it in the rubbish bin next to him. 

“Trying to enjoy some peace and quiet, which you have successfully disturbed,” Silver replied, kicking at Jack when he tried to grab onto his leg and use it to hold himself up. 

“Oh, don’t be like that. I’ll buy you a new pack. And I stopped because I thought you could use a little trip,” said Jack, pulling himself up and sitting next to Silver. 

“Where to?” asked Silver and Jack shook his head again, getting water all over Silver’s face.

“Our esteemed Ms Guthrie’s. Apparently, she might have some papers worth our time,”

“And Max made you her errand boy?”

“Errand man. And I always like the ride out there. Saw you sitting by your lonesome, thought you could use an outing,”

Silver thought for a moment. All he had planned was to maybe go for a swim, head home, work himself into a state of anxiety and then get so high he couldn’t speak. Like he had done every day that week. 

And he felt bad. He’d barely spoken to anyone since Sunday, blaming it on non-existent migraines. Jack trying to get him to engage made a pang of guilt hit him in the gut. They didn’t deserve to be shut out over something they had no control over, let alone even knew about. Silver couldn’t tell them nothing and then expect them to understand.

“Sure,” he said and Jack grinned. 

“That’s the spirit!” he jumped up, grabbing his blouse, pulling his arms through but leaving it unbuttoned and heading back to his bike. To call it a bike was generous, really. It was more like an extremely souped-up moped that definitely wasn’t roadworthy and had bits of engine conspicuously sticking out in random places. 

Jack slung his leg over, kicked up the stand and then patted his thighs. 

“Come and sit on daddy’s lap,”

“Ew,” groaned Silver, reluctantly standing and going to clamber onto Jack’s bony knees. He could see why Anne was annoyed at Jack for jumping in the water now – immediately Jack’s wet shorts started to seep water onto the back of Silver’s pants. 

“Oh, no,” he said and heard Anne snort from the back seat. Oh god, why had he agreed? He’d forgotten how perilous it was riding on Jack’s bike, especially if he had to sit at the front. Jack revved the throttle and they shot off with a start, steering them in a steep circle to head back towards town. Anne reached forward with one hand to grab at the side of Silver’s shirt in the world’s poorest imitation of a seatbelt, but it made him feel better anyway.

Jack sped through the town centre, beeping furiously at tourists that loitered on the streets and soon they were heading onto the main road through the island, into the jungle. Silver didn’t often go inland, not having much reason to, but passing over the threshold he remembered the unique quietness, the steadiness, so different from the ocean that surrounded it. 

He closed his eyes briefly, smelling the soil and the green, the scent of freshwater cutting through the salt that permeated everything on the coast. Underneath the roar of the bikes they passed on the road, he could hear the birds singing. 

When he opened his eyes they were passing through the next village and Jack slowed down and stopped as a group of locals carried a series of bamboo logs across the road. 

“You think Eleanor’s really gonna help us?” Anne asked in the interim, and Silver felt Jack shrug behind him. 

“I don’t think she can help much. What Eleanor wants is the island and she can’t do that anymore with Rogers. So, her only chance now is with us,” replied Jack.

“If she thinks that we’re all just friends now…” said Anne with an edge to her voice.

“I’m sure you’ll remind her what’s what, darling,” Jack soothed.

Anne made a noise that said ‘you're fucking right I will’ and then they were off again as the last bamboo log was carried across, starting to head uphill. The bike began to chug and made some awful grinding noise but Jack just sped up until Silver’s eyes were watering so badly he could barely see. God, he hoped Jack wasn’t about to drive them off a cliff.

After about 10 minutes, he heard Jack start spluttering behind him as they took a sudden steep decline. 

“What? What is it?!” he panicked, trying to see behind him. 

“Your hair is in my mouth!” yelled Jack. 

“Fuck, sorry!” he yelled back, grabbing his ponytail and pulling it over his shoulder, holding tightly so that it wouldn’t fly back. Some of the strands were wet. “Gross, Jack!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” cried Jack, taking them back up another hill that circled around. “Here I am, trying to do something nice-“ the rest of whatever Jack said was lost to the wind as he sped up again, and they spent the last minute of the drive shouting back and forth, mainly spewing insults and saying ‘what?!” 

Pulling up onto a flat again, Jack turned off the main road onto a driveway that took them a short way off and then to a large set of gates. Jack pulled the bike to a stop. 

There was a little intercom button next to the gate that Anne leant over and pressed and they waited for a few seconds while a little white light blinked on and off. 

“Come through,” came the tinny voice of Eleanor Guthrie and the intercom light switched off before the two gates slowly swung open. 

“Right then,” said Jack and they drove through, coming onto a personal driveway, lined by neatly groomed foliage, which they followed until they found themselves in a garage area. 

Jack killed the engine, kicked down the stand, and the three of them clambered off. Silver grumpily touched the wet patch on his ass from Jack’s shorts but felt slightly better when he saw that Anne had a conspicuously wet crotch. 

She stared at it, glaring. 

“Fucking hell, Jack,” she grumbled. “Looks like I’ve pissed myself,” 

Jack spluttered out a laugh when he turned to look. 

Silver had never actually been to the Rogers/Guthrie residence before. He had been to Eleanor’s own place, the house that she had before she’d married, and her childhood home. It was an old house, built in the colonial style of the West Indies, and Eleanor used it for town meetings and other events. Silver had always thought of it as lonely, that big old house in the middle of town with just her to live there, but at least it had felt loved and used. 

As they traversed a path around the garage they reached a small garden with the front door, a fountain and set of chairs, and Silver could already tell that the place had the soullessness that seemed to permeate the houses of the ultra-rich. No wonder Eleanor never found comfort here. 

The front door was already open so they walked through into the foyer, a bleak, harshly modern room that heavily featured concrete. It was also freezing, despite the fact that Silver felt like he was melting only a second ago. He guessed if you were Woodes Rogers, having your thermostat going day and night wasn’t a primary concern. 

“Through here!” Silver recognised Eleanor’s voice, and the trio followed it into what appeared to be the living room. 

Eleanor was standing facing the ceiling to floor glass walls that faced out over the island, drinking a glass of wine. Damn, ok, now Silver understood why Roger’s had built the house here. He could see everything they had just driven past, from the jungle to the town to the beach, way out to the horizon. He had never seen the island this way. He wondered if every time Eleanor looked out over it, she thought about everything she’d won and lost on it, about how she was bound there, like Calypso and Ogygia. 

Maybe not. Maybe she just enjoyed the view. 

“Hullo,” greeted Jack distractedly, already heading for the well-stocked bar in the corner, pouring himself a glass of the open bottle of white wine. Anne and Silver followed eagerly and Jack poured them glasses too when they held some out like ducklings waiting to be fed by their mother. 

The wine was crisp and so cold it made Silver’s teeth ache, but he never said no to drinking other men’s alcohol. Anne glared at her glass after taking a sip, shaking her head.

“Expensive shit,” she muttered, going for a whiskey instead. 

“More for me,” Jack said, going to double fist her glass as well. 

“Are you quite finished?” asked Eleanor, who had turned from the window and was watching them raid her bar with a disinterested face. Anne glared from where she was pouring out a generous helping of very expensive looking whiskey but Jack held up his two glasses of wine, grinning. Silver had been wondering why Anne had come along, knowing there was no love between her and Eleanor, figuring she just wanted to keep an eye on Jack, as always. But he now saw her additional motivation. He had no doubt that when they got back to town Anne would magically pull out several bottles of pricey liquor from innocuous places.

He loved it when she did that. 

“Quite, thank you,” said Jack in reply to Eleanor's question, slinking over towards the window, looking out over the island. Silver joined him. He could see a little shadow out on the water, the hint of a sail. He wondered if it was Flint. 

“It’s the only thing I’ll miss when I leave,” said Eleanor, looking back out the window with them. “The view was the one thing I liked in this fucking house,” 

“I can see why,” said Silver, looking around. The rest of the house seemed to follow the décor of the foyer, with too much exposed grey concrete, uncomfortable, stiff-looking furniture and the ugliest statue Silver had ever seen next to the sofa. He never thought he’d actually prefer his shack to something, but here he was. 

“Ugly fucking place,” agreed Jack and Eleanor laughed. She downed the rest of her wine glass, wincing slightly. 

“He’s not even selling it. Can afford not to. He could give away the land for free back to the locals, but he’d rather it just sit here, empty,” she sighed, walking over to the bar. She poured the last of the wine into her glass and threw the empty bottle into the rubbish. She was barefoot, wearing a long, flowing skirt, her hair gathered into a messy bun. 

Silver hadn’t known Eleanor before she’d taken up with Woodes Rogers. When he’d first met her, she’d been wearing an outfit that no doubt cost more than Silver’s entire existence, her makeup and hair immaculate, poised and inaccessible. 

He’d seen that poise disappear slowly though, as she changed in the past year, no longer forcing herself into some role that she could never quite fit. As he watched her now, she seemed freer, more…loose than she had even been, like until recently she’d been held down by something overwhelmingly heavy. 

Silver, although he didn’t really know her, felt glad for her. He knew what it was like, having that weight lifted. He also knew what it was like putting it back on. 

Eleanor turned, heading towards the coffee table. On it, there was a cardboard box, labelled with black marker that read ‘STUFF’. She patted the top of it. 

“These are some of his files. Bank statements, accounting, emails. Things like that. I printed them off his computer before he left. I honestly don’t know if there’s anything good in there. Although…” she placed her wine glass down on the table and opened the box. She rummaged through it for a moment, before pulling out a folder. She held it out for Jack, who looked down at his two glasses of wine. Sighing, Silver grabbed the folder instead. 

“Those are some of his bank statements. They’re pretty standard. Expect here,” continued Eleanor, opening the folder in Silver’s hands and flipping to a certain statement. “There’s cash coming through this subsidiary here. I’m pretty sure it’s just a shell company,”

“So you think he’s offshoring?” asked Jack, leaning in to look at the page. 

Eleanor shrugged, rubbing a hand over her eyes. 

“It’s a possibility. It isn’t illegal to use tax havens, but it is to not disclose it. He has no statements about offshoring, anywhere than I could find. So if he is…”

“It’s tax evasion,” finished Jack, finishing one of his glasses of wine. 

“And where would that get us? Companies evade tax all the time. Remember the Panama Papers?” said Silver. 

“It’s all I have,” sighed Eleanor. “Tax evasion can get you five years in prison. And you have to pay compensation. It’s not much, but it’s what we’ve got,”

“I mean, exactly how is he thinking of getting the land? He wants to build a resort in town, right?” said Silver as Jack began on his second glass. 

“He’ll try a quiet title suit. The ownership of the land is ambiguous. You guys and Max own the inn, we own our houses, but not the town. All I’ve got left from this divorce is what I started with. We don’t have the money to go to court against him,” said Eleanor and Jack turned to Silver. 

“What about that lawyer? Flint’s lady?” he asked and Eleanor raised an eyebrow. 

“Miranda?” 

“You know Miranda?” Silver asked. He often forgot that Flint and Eleanor had a strange father-daughter relationship going on. Well, they used to, he supposed. 

“I’ve met her a few times. She might be able to get something from these files. None of us are exactly lawyers,” said Eleanor. Well, Jack was double fisting wine with his shirt completely unbuttoned and Silver and Anne looked like they’d had bathroom accidents. No, they definitely weren’t lawyers. 

“That is true,” agreed Jack and Silver put the folder back in the box, packing it up again. He supposed he was going to have to cradle it on his lap like a baby on the way back. Fun. 

They all lapsed into silence, drinking their wine, caught up in their own thoughts. Jack shivered.

“Fucking cold in here,” he said, looking around. Silver noticed other boxes piled around the corners of the living room, all with different labels such as ‘DESK THINGS’, ‘SHOES’, and ‘BOOKS’. It didn’t seem like all that much, but he supposed it was all the things Eleanor owned herself before she had moved there. He wondered what would happen to everything Rogers had bought her while they were together. If they were just going to sit somewhere, gathering dust because the idea of things going to waste didn’t make his skin crawl. 

“Do you want a box?” Eleanor asked suddenly, looking over to where Anne was sneaking a bottle of Don Julio into her shirt. Anne scowled, but nodded, taking out the bottle, and then a Glenfiddich she already had tucked away. 

Eleanor retrieved an empty cardboard box from the corner of the room and placed it on the bar. 

“Take what you want,” she said. “It’ll just go to waste otherwise,”

Anne instantly began picking out the bottles she had no doubt been intending to somehow smuggle away, lining them neatly in the box. 

“Grab me a vodka,” directed Silver and Anne tucked one with a fancy looking label into the box. 

“Anything else we can relieve Rogers of?” asked Jack from where he was watching Anne pack bottle after bottle with an adoring look on his face. 

“Look through the house. It’s not like he’ll ever come back here, anyway, so he won’t know,” the words were like an activation phrase for a sleeper agent; Silver took off towards the kitchen looking for a microwave – his last had decided to die a while back – and Jack headed for the TV, trying out its heft and if he could carry it. 

Silver succeeded in his microwave mission, unplugging the pretty much brand new one in the kitchen and lugging it back to the lounge room. Anne was watching Jack try to lift the TV. 

“We’re on the bike,” she reminded him. 

“But,” Jack looked desperate. “It’s 4k,” 

“I guess I can take it in the car. I wasn't planning on going to town which is the whole reason you're even out here...but fuck it. Fuck him. If I can't help in any other way I can at least help you steal his shit,” said Eleanor and Jack clapped his hands. 

“I’m loving this. We should rob people more often,” said Jack and Silver laughed. It was looking like he was well and truly back on the path towards a life of crime. If the job with Hands was going to be this low stake, then he had nothing to worry about. 

If only.

-

The ride back to town was decidedly more uncomfortable –everything they could take they somehow crammed on with them – Anne held the box of files and booze, while Silver ended up with a rolled-up rug from the guest bedroom that Jack and Anne had fancied on his lap, sticking out dangerously to either side of the bike. 

Silver was very glad of the fact that there were basically zero road rules on the island, the other bikes and the occasional car veering around them to avoid the rug. To his surprise, they made it back to Anne and Jack’s place alive and without killing anyone else. The bike fell sideways will them all still on it when they stopped, unbalanced from all their crap, but the end of the rug acted as a temporary bike stand, preventing them from sprawling to the ground. 

“Shit,” said Jack, laughing, and Anne wriggled off the back with her boxes, letting Jack and Silver push the bike back upright. 

“The fuck?” Silver turned to see Vane in the doorway of the house, shirtless and eating leftovers from a tupperware container. 

“A little help?” asked Jack and Vane reluctantly came over, putting his tupperware on the porch railing and taking the rug from Silver. 

“What’s this shit? I thought you were going to Eleanor’s,” said Vane, walking with them back into the house, bringing the rug with him and eyeing the boxes Anne was carrying. Jack grabbed his tupperware for him. 

“We did. This is from her. Or well, from Rogers. Unofficially. No one’s going to be living in that house anymore, so,” Jack took the rug from Vane and unrolled it, covering the large red wine stain on the floorboards in front of the couch. “Thought we’d rescue some things,”

Vane picked up his tupperware again, shuffling around on the rug. It was a light blue, and wonderfully soft, a replacement for the last rug that had been there which had accidentally caught fire. 

“You get the stuff?” asked Vane, seemingly satisfied with his inspection of the rug, and in lieu of an answer, Anne dumped the box on the table, pointing at it. Vane raised an eyebrow. 

“Anything good?” 

“Eh. Tax evasion, maybe. We’re going to get that lawyer lady Max has contact with to have a look,”

“That’s it?” asked Vane, scowling. “That’s all she’s got? Maybe tax evasion? I knew she was full of shit,”

“It’s more than what we had before,” replied Jack, exasperated, sitting on the couch and reaching into the box of booze. He pulled out the bottle of Don Julio and poured a measure into a mug that was already on the table. 

Vane looked like he was going to continue to argue but instead sighed and shovelled some more leftovers into his mouth. 

“Did you come here just to eat our leftovers?” asked Jack, leaning back of the couch, kicking off his shoes and laying his legs over Anne, who had taken his mug. 

“I didn’t have anything at home,” Vane said unapologetically, sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the coffee table, pulling the box of liquor over to him so he could have a look.

Silver decided he might go home. The distraction of the trip was starting to fade and he was beginning to think about Sunday again, which made him want to slink into bed, curl into a ball and rock back and forth. A very healthy coping mechanism. 

“I think I’ll head off,” he said and Jack turned to where he was still standing on the threshold of the loungeroom, frowning. 

“What? No, don’t go. Eleanor will be here in like 20 minutes with the TV. We’ll play Mario Kart,”

“Eleanor's coming?” Vane’s head snapped up from where he was admiring a bottle of cognac. 

“With a very fancy TV. We’re going to be able to see Mario’s individual fucking hairs,” 

“Does anyone want that?” Anne muttered while Vane frowned. 

“Plus,” continued Jack, turning back to Silver. “She has your microwave. Can’t leave without that,” 

Silver sighed. He’d forgotten about his microwave. And if he didn’t stay to get it now, no doubt Jack and Anne would commandeer it and he would never get it back. 

Also…playing Mario Kart couldn’t hurt. Having some fun with his friends couldn’t hurt. Fuck Hands. He probably wanted Silver isolated, feeling like shit, thinking about him. 

Fuck that. He was going to play some fucking Mario Kart and not think about it instead. 

“Ok,” he agreed. “But no Rainbow Road,” 

-

Silver was drunk. Like…quite drunk. He was drunk and he fucking sucked at Mario Kart. Why did nothing in his life ever go right? 

He watched sadly as he came in fifth, Bowser overtaking him in the last 50 metres, the bitch, while Max cheered as her stupid pink Yoshi avatar took its victory lap. 

He threw his controller away. 

“I hate this game,” he moaned, closing his eyes and tilting his head back on the couch. 

“You’re such a bad loser,” said Max, like she hadn’t thrown her glass across the room when Jack had red shelled her, making her come in second place last round. 

Staying to get his microwave and play a few rounds of Mario Kart on Jack and Anne’s dope as hell new TV had somehow turned into lots of rounds of Mario Kart with lots of rounds of their looted booze, which had somehow turned into Max coming around after work to join in, then Idelle, then Featherstone and then it was suddenly 11 pm and the loungeroom was littered with empty takeaway containers and bottles. 

Jack had put on his Jimmy Buffet playlist and was singing along to Son of a Son of a Sailor, changing the words to ‘son of a son of a tailor’. Featherstone was yelling for Margaritaville, even though it had already been played five times. 

“It’s my turn,” said Idelle, returning from the bathroom, picking up the controller Silver had thrown, who was glad to take a break. Losing in Mario Kart was really doing something to his self-esteem. 

“You’ve been acting weird,” said Max suddenly, looking as laid-back as she was liable to get, her hair down, feet kicked up on the table, makeup smudged from kissing Anne. 

Silver gave her an affronted look. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. Just, you’ve been…distant. Like you’re somewhere else,” she said, delicately sipping at her glass of…something alcoholic. 

Silver sighed, watching the TV where Idelle, Vane and Featherstone were currently competing on Koopa Troopa Beach. 

“I’m fine. It’s just…something from a long time ago. Something I thought I’d left behind,” 

“Madi?” Max asked, frowning. 

“No, nothing to do with her. It’s nothing, really,” he plastered a smile onto his face, his overly charming one that Max had never once fallen for. 

“I don’t believe you,” she said, turning to watch Idelle laugh as Featherstone got overtaken by Waluigi at the last second. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t push,” 

She took another drink, falling back into Anne’s arms as she joined them on the couch, refilling Max’s glass and kissing her on the cheek. 

“You never did tell me how your little visit to Flint’s went,” Max continued. 

Anne narrowed her eyes. 

“You went to Flint’s? And you’re still alive?” 

“He likes me, thank you very much,” said Silver, ignoring it when both Anne and Max laughed in disbelief. “You know how it went. He introduced me to Miranda, I gave you Miranda’s number. That’s it,” 

“Liar,” said Anne and Max nodded. 

“I’m surprised he introduced you. He’s not exactly a friendly man,”

“He’s not that bad,” Silver found himself defending, despite the fact that he had mostly received the brunt of Flint’s taciturn nature. 

“He’s been here for what, ten years? I can count on one hand how many times I’ve spoken to him. And before you say it, taking his order at the tavern doesn’t count as a conversation,” said Max. 

“He’s just…” Silver faltered. Shy? Private? Horribly lonely? For some reason that he couldn’t identify, this dissection of Flint made him feel protective, which was stupid. Flint was hardly a man that needed protecting, especially not from someone like Silver. 

“He’s sad, I think,” Silver eventually said, grabbing a mug of…something off the table and drinking it to hide his face. 

“Hang on,” said Max, leaning forward. Anne came with her, clinging to her back. “Do you like him?”

Silver looked up at her, disliking her expression, like he was a fly in her web. 

“I hardly know him. I just think he’s…misunderstood, maybe,” he said, shrugging, feeling uncomfortable, and unsure as to why he was feeling so. 

“Uhuh,” said Max, evidently not convinced, leaning back with Anne again. Her gaze was still irritatingly searching. 

“I just mean…” Silver found himself saying, finishing whatever the hell it was that was in the mug; whiskey and orange juice, maybe? Who the fuck was drinking that? “Sure, he hasn’t made much of an attempt to get to know anyone. But have any of us tried to get to know him?” 

Silver could admit that previously his investment in making friends with Flint had been superficial. Something he took as a challenge, more like a battle he was trying to win instead of being motivated by any kindness. That had changed though. He didn't know if that would make any difference. He supposed that one could get to a point where they were so lonely that being alone became a comfort in itself, and walls could be built so high that even the sincerest intentions couldn't climb over it. 

Max scowled, knowing that Silver had backed her into a corner. 

“No,” she admitted reluctantly. She sighed. “And it’s not that we think he’s…a bad person, or anything. I suppose you’re right. We just don’t understand him,” 

Silver didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know why he suddenly cared so much. Flint wasn’t his friend. Two conversations didn’t make it so. And he didn’t know why, when he had thought about it, the idea of never seeing Flint again made something twist in his gut, like walking for miles towards a door, only to stand in front of it, and then turn away. 

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone buzzing in his back pocket; he dazedly wriggled around until he managed to wedge his hand under him and retrieve it, squinting at the screen. 

“Shit,” he cursed, standing too fast, knocking the mug to the floor and stumbling, catching himself on the arm of the sofa. The others hooted. 

“Taxi! Taxi!” yelled Jack and Silver flipped him off before quickly making his way to the bathroom, shutting himself in and answering the phone before it rang out. 

“Hey,” he said, cringing at how his voice slurred. He cleared his throat. “How are you?” 

“Are you drunk?” asked Madi, her voice staticky and distant, but still so familiar and warm that it made his legs go to jelly. He sat on the lip on the tub, running his hand through his hair and laughing. 

“Fuck. A little, yeah,”

“And I was worried I was calling too late,” Madi replied, and Silver could hear her smile. “Please don’t tell me you’re drinking alone,”

“I’m not that sad,” said Silver. Well yes, he was that sad, but he wasn’t going to tell Madi. “No; I’m at Jack’s. He got a new TV. We’re playing Mario Kart,”

“You’re terrible at Mario Kart,”

“I know. Bowser kept beating me. Fucking turtle,” he said and Madi laughed. They were quiet for a minute; Silver closed his eyes, listening to the sound of her breathing. 

“You didn’t call the other day; I was worried. Is everything alright?” she asked, and Silver opened his eyes, sighing and awkwardly manoeuvring himself so that he was lying down in the tub. Someone had lit a candle on the sink, the homemade scented kind they sold at the markets in town, and the light from the flame flickered off the tiles and mirror in the darkness. 

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, I should have texted. There was a storm, is all. You know how I get,” he lied, hating how it was still so easy to do, hating himself for lying to her. 

“Were you ok?”

“Yeah, fine. Just the usual. The rain fucked up my sweet corn, though. I had to replant some of them,” 

“Not the sweet corn,” said Madi dramatically and Silver laughed. 

“How about you? How’s your dad?” He asked and heard Madi sigh down the line. 

“He’s ok. Better than he was, at least. We’re going to go down to that nursery this weekend, pick up some new plants. Ma’s rearranging the garden again,”

“Have fun?”

“Ugh, I’ll try,” she went quiet for a moment. “Are you sure you’re ok? You sound…I don’t know. Distracted,” 

“I’m ok. Promise. Just tired. Too much Mario Kart,” he lied again and was horrified and surprised when he felt tears prick at his eyes. He ground the heel of his free hand into his eye until he saw stars, gritting his teeth. After a moment, the lump in his throat disappeared as quickly as it had come and he could breathe again. Goddamnit. Now he was randomly crying in empty bathtubs, apparently. 

“Ok,” said Madi, even though he knew she wasn’t convinced. In the past, she probably would have kept going, plying him until he told her what was wrong, until he spilt it like a dam opening its floodgates. She didn’t now though. It wasn’t her responsibility to make sure he was ok, to force him to confront his feelings. It never had been.

They chatted idly, shallowly, for a little while longer, until Madi begged off, having work in the morning. 

“Ok, bye. I love you,” said Silver, suddenly feeling bone-tired. 

“I love you too,” replied Madi and then the line went dead. Silver let his phone fall back into his lap, looking up around the bathroom. The flicker from the candle was oddly mesmerising, and he watched the flame until his eyes stung. Outside the bathroom, he could hear yelling, Jack screaming ‘I NEED ONIONS, SOMEONE GET ME FUCKING ONIONS!”. Apparently, they had moved onto playing Overcooked. He shimmied, slipping down in the tub, undoing the straps on his prosthesis and dumping it over onto the bathmat. It had started to rain outside. 

He’d just stay here, for a bit. Just a quick nap, and then he’d go kick some ass at Overcooked. For now, he felt too raw, like a reopened wound, that if anyone looked, they would see right into him. 

He closed his eyes. Margaritaville was playing again. God, he was going to fucking kill Featherstone. In a minute though. First, he was going to hide in the bathtub until he didn’t feel like his poor sweet corn, battered and bruised and uprooted. Then, he was going to fucking kill Featherstone. 

-

He never got around to killing Featherstone. He fell asleep curled up in the bathtub and awoke in the morning to Jack pissing in the toilet while simultaneously brushing his teeth. 

“The hell?” Silver mumbled and Jack waved his hand. 

“Morning. Do you want breakfast?” he asked, finishing peeing and flushing the toilet. 

“Did you have to piss while I’m right here?” asked Silver, pushing himself up slightly, groaning at his cramped muscles and numb ass. His vision whited out for a second and a wave of nausea washed over him before dissipating, leaving him to notice the steady thrum of a headache. 

“This is my house. If you don’t want to see me piss, don’t sleep in my bathtub,” Jack spat his toothpaste into the sink and then rinsed his mouth with a cup of water off the sink. “You feel like shit?”

“Uh, yeah,” grumbled Silver, rubbing at his temples. At least he didn’t have to work until later in the afternoon. 

“Well, come have breakfast. There’s aspirin in the cabinet,” Jack said as he left, leaving the bathroom door open. Silver could now smell cooking bacon and brewing coffee, which motivated him to crawl out of the tub and sit heavily on the side. He reluctantly strapped on his leg, massaging the sore muscle, wishing he had his crutch. Then he took two aspirin from the cabinet and rubbed toothpaste around his mouth with his finger before slowly making his way to the kitchen. 

Apparently, everyone else had stayed the night too, although he couldn’t spot Max, who had probably headed to the inn earlier that morning. Vane was still sleeping, lying on the new rug, seemingly undisturbed by the ruckus in the kitchen. Silver sat heavily on one of the extremely unstable stools that stood around the kitchen bench, leaning his head in his hands. 

“Hair of the dog?” he heard Anne ask and looked up to see her place a mug of coffee in front of him, holding a bottle of whiskey over it. 

“Ugh, no. I’d rather die, thanks,” she rolled her eyes, leaving his mug alone, but pouring a little bit into her own.

“Wimp,” she said, taking a large gulp. Silver delicately blew at his own, cringing at the way his stomach turned before forcing himself to take a sip. 

“Can I borrow your top for tonight? The sequined one?” Jack asked, sitting down next to him.

Silver squinted, confused.

“What’s tonight?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s trivia night,” Jack explained and Silver smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. 

“Ah, fuck. I totally forgot,” The constant progression of time was really starting to get on his nerves.

“So, can I?” asked Jack. “Borrow that shirt?” 

“Yeah, fine. Why though?” 

“Max and I are trying a new tactic. Extremely shiny clothes to distract our opponents,” 

“You guys are way too competitive,” muttered Silver, going back to his coffee. He’d managed to push past his nausea, his mouth now watering at the bacon and eggs Idelle was plating up. He chowed down with gusto once everyone had retrieved a serving, barely engaging in the conversation around him in favour of satisfying the very demanding beast that had awoken in his stomach. 

Just as he was finishing, Vane woke up, shuffling into the kitchen, grabbing bacon from the pan with his fingers and eating it right there. Silver made a face.

“I have to go to the shop, some people want a couple of boards for the day. I can give you a lift home,” he said to Silver. Silver took a peek outside the window. It was lightly drizzling, probably had been non-stop since last night. Riding with Vane would equal getting less wet than walking, especially since he hadn’t bought his umbrella, and he really didn’t want water getting into the joint of his prosthetic.

“That’d be good, thanks,” he agreed, going to the sink to wash his plate. Somehow, that meant he ended up washing everyone else’s dishes as well to his annoyance but he guessed he owed penance for sleeping in the bathtub. 

He and Vane departed with the promise of seeing the others at the inn later – riding on Vane’s actual bike that wasn’t just a repurposed moped made Silver feel a lot cooler and he conspicuously tried to look casual on the backseat as Vane revved through town while also having a microwave on his lap. 

Vane’s bike kicked up sand as he skidded to a stop in front of Silver’s house, making him jerk the microwave into Vane’s back. 

“Ow,” said Vane monotonously. 

“Uh, sorry,” Silver replied awkwardly, climbing off, hoping that Vane wouldn’t run him over in retribution. Vane just shrugged and took off again, heading towards his rental shop. Such a charmer, that guy.

Silver’s living room was empty. No Hands. He’d actually locked his doors this time, but he had absolutely no doubt that Hands would have found his way in despite that. He walked over to his bookshelf, staring at the picture of Madi and him that Hands had touched. Sighing, he picked it up and packed it away into one of the drawers, along with the other pictures. There. Now there would be nothing for Hands to look at when he came back, no memory he could taint or exploit. He would put them back up when this was all done. 

If it was ever all done. 

Stripping off his clothes, he headed for the bathroom and sat in the bottom of his shower, hoping that the water would wash him down the drain. 

He wanted time to stop, just for a little. It felt like it was rushing towards him while he stood still, like he was standing on a hill and time was the wind that blew past him, that he tried to catch in his hands, tried to grasp tightly to his chest, stop it moving without him. 

He wasn’t ready yet. For any of it. He doubted he ever would be. 

-

Trivia night was in general, a violent night. If someone didn’t get punched for answering that Chandler’s last name in Friends was ‘Bong’ and not ‘Bing’, Silver would be surprised. 

From the kitchen, Silver could see Max and Jack out at their table looking like the lost members of ABBA, Jack wearing the sequined top Silver had bought for him. He had thought their tactic was stupid, but he was already being distracted by their clothes, mildly hypnotised by the disco ball effect they were having on the room. Like trivia night wasn’t already a stressful environment with all the yelling and occasional fork stabbing without the new risk of being blinded by the reflective earrings Max had donned. 

“Why did you allow this?” he asked Anne, emerging from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron, his hair a frazzled heap on top of his head. Anne was slightly cross-eyed as she looked at the pair. 

“I’m on their team. It’s a competitive advantage,” she replied, grimacing as she looked over his harried state.

“I still think we should separate you three,” he muttered, crossing his arms. 

“You can try,” Anne said, walking over to join her table, shielding her eyes as she went. 

He sighed, going back to the kitchen, glad to see Randall there, tying on his apron. 

“Cheers, mate,” he said and Randall grunted, going to put on a batch of fries in the deep fryer. Silver shrugged, not bothered by Randall’s dismissal, hanging his apron up on the rack and going in search of a beer. 

Idelle was manning the bar and poured him one as she saw him approach. 

“You ready to win this time?” she asked, holding up her own drink to clink against Silver’s. 

“Ready? Absolutely. Are we going to though? Absolutely not,” he replied, taking a long pull from his beer. His trivia group was notoriously bad. He, Idelle, Muldoon, Logan and Charlotte always spent more time arguing over their answers that actually answering, and often forgot to write anything down because they were still disputing something like what year the Berlin Wall fell and didn’t realise they’d moved onto the next question. 

“Oh, shit. Look,” said Idelle, and Silver turned to follow her eye line to the doors of the inn. Standing just inside it, looking a bit confused, was Flint and Miranda. 

“Oh shit,” echoed Silver. Since when did Flint come to trivia night? Before he knew was he was doing, he was making his way towards them, elbowing through the crowd and shuffling around the re-arranged tables. Flint didn’t seem to notice Silver until he was right in front of them and Miranda turned to greet him. 

“I assume we’re missing something,” said Miranda and Flint swivelled his head to turn and look at Silver, shuffling back a little when he saw that he was standing right in front of him. Silver self-consciously took a step back as well, realising that he had all but barged into the man’s personal space. Off to a good start, then. 

“You are,” confirmed Silver, smiling at Miranda. He was surprised she was still there. He had been bummed she and Flint had never come to the inn over the past week, wanting to catch another glimpse of them together.

“Oh god,” Flint sighed, rubbing at his beard. “It’s not trivia night, it is?” 

“No. Why would you think that?” asked Silver, looking over his shoulder at the ‘TRIVIA NIGHT’ banner slung across the small stage in the corner they used for such events. 

Flint glared at him. 

“Miranda, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. We can just go…” Flint started to turn for the door but Miranda grabbed his arm and held fast. 

“Oh no, you don’t. Get back here. I love a good trivia night,” replied Miranda, her eyes sparkling, a wonderfully mischevious smile on her face. 

“There'll be no room for us,” Flint tried to argue, stepping back towards her. He scanned the room again, looking apprehensive, his eyes landing on Max and Jack. “Fuck me,”

“Of course there’s room,” interrupted Silver, suddenly overcome with a desperation that made his skin feel like it was vibrating. “You can join my team! What we lack in knowledge, we make up for with enthusiasm,” 

“Was that meant to be comforting?” asked Flint, raising an eyebrow. 

“No, I was just stating facts. It’ll be fun,” said Silver and Flint made a face that clearly stated he doubted that. 

“Come on,” said Miranda, stroking his arm placating. “I want to,” 

Flint looked at her and Silver watched, fascinated as they had another one of their silent conversations. After a second, Flint sighed, deflating. 

“Fine,” he conceded. “For you,” 

Miranda grinned. 

“Where shall we sit?” she asked Silver and he smiled, his overwhelming determination quickly simmering to anticipation in his belly. 

“This way,” he stepped aside, holding out an arm in a ‘you first’ gesture. Miranda and Flint walked through, Flint pinning him with a suspicious look as he went and Silver directed them through the labyrinth of tables to his spot next to the bar. They sat, Miranda looking excited, Flint looking petulant and Idelle poked her head out from behind the bar. 

“The fuck?” she mouthed at Silver, who shrugged. He had no idea how he’d managed it either. 

“Just a heads up – my team always win. So please don’t bring us down, we have a reputation to uphold,” Silver said, sitting down next to Miranda, picking up the beer he had left when he had gone to greet them. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” replied Miranda, looking around the room enthusiastically. He wondered if she had seen much of the community on the island, or if her visits were always limited to Flint and his solitary sphere. From the way she seemed to be drinking it all in, Silver guessed she hadn’t. 

“Drinks?” Idelle had come over from the bar and was holding a notepad and a pen. Silver knew her well enough that she wasn’t actually that good a bartender that she gave a shit when customers wanted drinks and had only come over to scope the surprise arrivals. 

“Another beer, please,” said Silver and Idelle glared at him, not writing it down. 

“Shall we share a wine? Red?” Miranda turned to Flint, who nodded, looking uncomfortable. “A bottle of red wine, please, pinot noir, if you have it,” Idelle gave an 'uhuh', not writing down that either, stood staring for another second, and then mosied back over to the bar. 

“Where’s the rest of your team?” asked Flint, leaning back in his chair, like he wished he could disappear into it. Silver had no doubt Muldoon and Logan were outside doing some form of drugs while Charlotte filmed it, but he didn’t think he should say that. 

“Probably brushing up on their trivia knowledge,” Silver bullshitted and Flint snorted. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you doubt me?” asked Silver, leaning forward on his elbows across the table. “Do you think I’m lying about this?”

“Yes,” replied Flint dully, watching him with a flat expression. 

“Ok. And you think you’re better than us, it that it?” Silver provoked, trying not to smile as Flint sighed. 

He didn't reply for a moment, before he levelled Silver with an almost frightening expression.

“Tell you what. I bet with me here your team will win,” said Flint and Silver leaned back in his chair again. 

“Oh really? You’re awfully sure of yourself aren’t you?” said Silver and Flint shrugged lazily. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“Fine. I bet we’ll lose,” Silver stretched his hand across the table towards Flint, who hesitated a second before grasping it. His hand was surprisingly warm, pleasantly calloused and Silver imagined what it would feel like against his face, his neck, the inside of his thighs. He shivered. 

“What are we betting, exactly?” Flint asked, letting go of Silver’s hand. 

“We can settle that afterwards,” said Silver, not exactly having a whole lot to gamble, save about $12 he had in an old jar and his Nintendo 2DS that only had Luigi’s Mansion on it. Flint gave a short laugh. 

“I don’t think you understand how betting works,” he replied.

“I don’t think _you_ understand how betting works,” 

Flint looked like he was going to retaliate when Idelle returned, carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. Silver was surprised she had actually come back. 

“Thank you,” said Miranda as Idelle poured them out two extremely generous portions. 

“Haven’t seen you here before,” said Idelle conversationally. Silver rolled his eyes. “You new to the island?” 

“Oh no,” replied Miranda, taking a drink from her glass. “I’m just visiting James. I was meant to go back earlier this week but decided to stay on a bit longer. It is lovely here,” 

“You from the mainland?” Idelle asked. 

“Yes. I’d like to visit more often,” Miranda said, a sad hint to her tone. Flint was steadfastly looking elsewhere. “But life gets in the way, you know?” 

“Yeah. I get that,” said Idelle, looking back and forth between Flint and Miranda curiously. 

There was the screech of microphone feedback and everyone turned to look at Featherstone, who was standing on the stage, looking sheepish. 

“Ugh, sorry,” he said and coughed. “Is everyone nearly ready?”

There was a chorus of contradicting answers from around the room, and their table suddenly became occupied by the rest of the team, Muldoon, Logan and Charlotte arriving from wherever the hell they had been. Logan immediately began chatting to Flint, who looked slightly stunned, but not murderous so Silver figure it was ok. He probably should have warned him about Logan’s overbearing friendliness. 

“Alright, everyone shut the fuck up!” commanded Featherstone, smoothing down the blazer he always wore to emcee, placing his papers on the little podium they had set up. The room slowly quietened, Idelle running over from the bar, dragging an extra chair with her, squishing in between Charlotte and Muldoon. 

“First off; the rules! Please, no punching, stabbing, spitting, biting, all that. Vane, I’m looking at you. And…that’s it really. Are we ready?” 

This time, the room answered in the affirmative and Silver’s team all put their fists together in the middle of the table. 

“Here’s to losing wildly, lads!” said Logan and they all cheered. 

Silver grabbed the pen and answering sheet off the table and handed it to Miranda. 

“You seem like the most respectable person here,” he said and she tilted her head.

“Thanks, I guess,” she took up the pen and held it poised over the paper. Silver smiled past her at Flint. 

“I think you’ve underestimated just how terrible we are,” he warned, but Flint didn’t seem daunted.

“I suppose we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” 

Featherstone clapped his hands.

“Alright! First category…name the song and artist from these lyrics!”

-

Silver had absolutely no idea if they had done well. All he knew was that Flint got extremely intense and competitive and his mouth was stained red from the wine he was drinking and Silver was extremely fucked.

He desperately tried to stop himself from being too obvious in his staring, hiding his face in his glass or chewing on the food they had ordered. Luckily, Max and Jack were in his line of sight behind Flint, so at least he could pretend he was looking at them instead. Although occasionally all the glitter actually did catch his eye. 

He'd noticed Flint was attractive before. How could he not? Silver liked to think he was a man of refined taste. Had been intrigued and curious and maybe had indulged in a fantasy or two about his grumpy neighbour pinning him to the wall when he’d first moved to the island. That had been safe though, daydreaming from afar. Now he felt very suddenly out of his depth and overwhelmed and like if Flint didn’t stop licking his lips then Silver would crawl across the table and see if he tasted like the wine he was currently sipping at. 

It seemed that seeing a man become flushed and angry over the names of the Spice Girls was a particular turn-on for Silver. Huh. You learned something new every day. 

“Weirdly, I’m feeling good about this one, lads,” said Logan, leaning his chair back and grinning. “And I never feel good about it,”

“It’s because we didn’t spend all our time arguing like we always do,” said Charlotte. She smirked, her eyes darting to Silver and Flint. “Thanks for keeping us in check, mum and dad,” 

Flint glared, munching on a chip. 

“Wait, am I the dad or mum in this scenario?” asked Silver.

“Mum. You’ve always been here for us. I don’t know dad,” said Muldoon, drunkenly leaning over to cuddle into Silver’s side. 

Silver laughed, looking over at Flint, ignoring the way he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Flint was looking blankly into his newly empty glass. Briefly, Miranda placed her hand on his knee and he looked up at her, flashed her a quick, fake smile, and then looked back down. 

Silver frowned.

Before he could watch any longer, Featherstone reappeared on the podium, looking significantly more dishevelled than he had been at the beginning of the night. He had lost the blazer and his shoes and had stolen the sparkly bracelets that Max had been wearing, which now shone jauntily on his wrists. 

“You know what’s up! Hand your sheet to the next table over for marking. Table Three, you’re not allowed to mark Table Four’s because of what happened last time. You know what you did,”

There was a brief ruckus as papers switched tables; Silver’s groups heading behind them and Max coming to deliver her own. 

“Mark this wrong and I’ll chop your dick off,” she said pleasantly, her eyes lingering on Flint and Miranda before she went back to her own table. 

“Such a kind woman,” said Silver, passing the sheet to Miranda. That way none of them could be accused of tampering. 

Silver could hardly remember the questions as Featherstone read out the answers, having been too distracted by Flint, but he figured that they were doing ok based on the way the rest of his table kept tittering and quietly cheering between themselves. 

Miranda checked off the answers with cut-throat efficiency and the others watched, enraptured, at every tick and cross she placed. Silver glanced at the rest of them, excitable as schoolchildren, with a smile on his face. 

He looked over at Flint. Flint was already watching him, that same unreadable expression on his face that Silver had seen a week earlier, that made his toes curl and his hair stand on end. Not knowing what else to do, he gave a small, quick nod.

Flint only raised his eyebrows, holding his gaze for a second longer, before he looked back at what Miranda was doing. Silver suck in a long breath, feeling like he’d been underwater. God, he needed to get his head straight. 

Before he knew it, Featherstone was reading off the last answer and Miranda finished with a tick. 

“We got a lot of them right!” said Charlotte in a hushed tone, like it was a secret. She studied the paper on the table. “They did well too, though. Oh god, I’m so nervous. Why am I so nervous?” 

Featherstone came around, collecting the sheets, beating off anyone trying to bribe him. 

“Baby,” said Idelle, jumping from her seat and slinging her arms around him. “Have I ever mentioned how much I love you?” 

“Hey! No bribing the judge! That’s a crime!” Jack yelled from his table, looking ready to wrestle Idelle to the ground. 

Featherstone looked apologetic. 

“Babe, I can’t threaten the integrity of trivia night,” he said, gathering the sheet off the table, whisking away after kissing a disappointed Idelle on the cheek. 

“Valiant try,” said Silver as Idelle slumped back to her seat sulkily. 

The rest of his table, minus Miranda and Flint were eagerly watching Featherstone as he returned to the stage and shuffled through the pages, making faces every now and then. 

“Alright,” he tapped the sheets obnoxiously against the microphone. “Our winners for tonight - and please, let us be civil, for once, yeah? Our winners for tonight…”

“In third place – Table Five!” Silver turned to see Table Five give a moderate cheer – he could spot Billy Bones and Hal Gates giving each other congratulatory back pats. 

“In second place we’ve got…Table Two!” Max and Jack’s table whooped, clinking their glasses together. 

“Oh god, we’re going to lose,” moaned Muldoon. “Stupid fucking Dufresne,” Silver and the other’s turned to glare at the said man, where he sat at his table. God, there was nothing worse than losing to Dufresne. 

“And in first place we have…” Featherstone gave a prolonged pause. Logan chugged down the rest of his beer. “Table One!” 

“We won! Oh my god, we won!” shouted Charlotte and Silver found himself leaping to his feet with the others, being embraced in a five-way hug and jumping up and down. Holy shit, they won. They never won. 

Silver turned to look at Flint and Miranda. Miranda was laughing, clearly amused, and gave him a dainty round of applause when he caught her eye. 

Flint wasn’t laughing. He was watching them with a contemplative, almost melancholy look on his face, like he was merely looking through them. Silver motioned with his hand for Flint to join them, but he only shook his head. 

Before he could go over and grab him, Silver felt someone knock into him from behind. It was Jack.

“I’m not even angry,” said Jack, joining in on the jumping up and down. “this is a historical moment,” 

“Fuck yeah it is!” yelled Logan, which prompted another round of yelling. 

“Alright, alright! Calm down! Max, help!” Silver could hear Featherstone saying over the microphone as well as the sound of glass shattering as their jumping led them to bump into the next table over. They settled a little, not wanting to incur Max’s wrath, sitting back down at their table, still high on their victory. Everyone else had starting to move about; some people were leaving or pushing tables back together or ordering more round of drinks even though Idelle was steadfastly ignoring everyone trying to call her over. 

Silver accepted a beer from Max who walked over from the bar, smiling. 

“Congratulations,” she said, tapping her flute of champagne against his beer. “I’m happy for you. And I’m never happy for people who do better than me,”

He laughed. 

“It was all thanks to our new recruits,” he tilted his head towards Miranda and Flint; Max narrowed her eyes in a look Silver knew well. She slid around him, perching on his chair arm and began chatting to Miranda. He supposed it was good they were meeting. Max alone was daunting enough, but with the addition of Miranda, Silver felt significantly better about whatever the hell Rogers was going to try to do. 

Silver looked over at Flint; he had accumulated a new glass of wine from somewhere and was studying the crimson liquid as though it held some deep secret. Silver lifted himself from his hair, looking to go and…he didn’t know - talk to him? Strike up a casual conversation? - when he became accosted by Jack again, who grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the next table, where it looked like poker was being set up. 

Silver glanced over his shoulder; Flint was still looking into his glass, seemingly unaware of the bluster of activity around him. Silver shrugged. Typical Flint, he supposed. He turned back to the table. Anne was shuffling cards with frightening speed. Alright. Time to lose his $12. 

-

After maybe an hour or two of shitty poker hands, Silver wandered outside, looking to escape the claustrophobic atmosphere, stepping down onto the sand, breathing in the cool ocean breeze. He contemplated smoking the cigarette that he had in his pocket, knowing he would feel annoyed at himself afterwards, but craving something to do with his hands. He sighed, pulling out the cigarette and putting it in his mouth before he realised he didn’t have a lighter. He groaned in annoyance. 

Looking around like one might suddenly appear, he caught sight of a figure standing a little ways off, their head tilted up towards the moon. It was Flint. 

Pocketing his cigarette, Silver cautiously made his way over, unsure if he was welcome. Flint heard him coming; he turned to watch as Silver approached, looking neither welcoming nor like he wanted Silver to go away. 

“You won,” said Silver, standing next to him, squinting up at the moon as if it would tell him what Flint had been thinking.

“Hm?” Flint asked, giving a questioning look out the corner of his eye.

“The bet,” clarified Silver. “You won,” 

Flint hummed.

“I don’t think we ended up betting anything,” 

“Well you can choose now, I guess,” said Silver. “What do you want?” 

Flint turned to look at him fully, his eyes bright in the dark. He didn’t speak for a moment. 

“I don’t know,” he eventually said, turning away again. 

“Are we still talking about the bet?” Silver asked, sensing that Flint’s mind was elsewhere. 

Flint didn’t answer; he worried at the earring in his left lobe, rolling it back and forth between the pad of his forefinger and thumb. Silver watched, slightly hypnotised. 

“Do you think I’m…” Flint began suddenly and then dropped off, his jaw working as he tried to find what to say. “Do you think I’m…apathetic? That I don’t care about the people here?”

“What?” Silver couldn’t help but laugh; the question was so unexpected, what was being asked, who was asking it, that Silver was being the recipient of it. It was a mistake; whatever vulnerability Flint’s face held shuttered as he frowned, his body turning away from Silver’s. 

“No, wait! I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect it is all,” Silver held his hand out to stop Flint from walking away. It hovered slightly above Flint’s bare forearm, not touching, but so close he could feel the heat of his skin. “What are you talking about?”

Flint looked like he wished he hadn’t spoken, but he moved slightly back towards Silver, the empty, blank look on his face receding somewhat. 

“It’s just what your friend said,” he started awkwardly, like he didn’t know how to express what he was thinking in words. “About not knowing me. He’s right. I haven’t exactly gone out of my way to make friends here. I suppose it’s natural for people to think of me as disaffected or…that I don’t give a shit about this place,” 

“Because of what Muldoon said? He doesn’t even know what he’s saying,” replied Silver, wanting to pull Flint out of wherever he had disappeared to in his head, but having no idea where to reach for. He remembered last night, the conversation hazy in his mind, what Max had said about Flint. About not understanding him. 

“It’s not just that. Being there tonight, the fact that I didn’t even know it was happening when it’s so important to all of you…I suppose it just makes me realise,” Flint trailed off, looking up at the moon again. “How little I know anyone here. How little I’ve tried to,” 

“Hey, you don’t have to know anyone if you don’t want to. We all have our own shit. If your shit is being private, no one minds. You don’t actually care what they think, do you?” Silver asked and Flint met his eye briefly, then looked back up, furrowing his brows.

“No,” he said, and it sounded like the truth, but Silver suddenly saw a glimpse of something in Flint that made him pause. 

“You do care,” Silver said and Flint snapped his head back, a surprised, but guarded look on his face. 

“No, I don’t,” he said, but now it sounded like a lie. 

“You do,” Silver said again and held his hand up when Flint went to say something. “And that’s ok! I just didn’t…expect it, is all,”

Flint still looked like he wanted to argue, before he sighed, the fight going out with his breath.

“It’s not…” he paused, hand coming up to rub at his beard in a habit Silver had seen him do before. “It’s not that I want them to like me, or anything like that. It’s more like…I’ve had people believe that I was a bad person before. And I can stand for people to believe it again. Doesn’t mean I want it though,”

Silver wondered what Flint was referring to. Who he had been before he’d come to this island, why the weight of it still followed him. They were more similar than he had thought. 

“I get that,” said Silver. “Being thought of as a bad person. Being a bad person,” Ah shit, why’d he say that?

Flint studied him, his defeated face changing to confusion.

“I don’t-“ he started but Silver interrupted.

“Never mind. All I meant was…” Silver took a queue from Flint, looking up towards the moon. Until he’d moved here, he’d never appreciated how beautiful it was. “I know what you mean. About how people see you. But trust me; no one here thinks that of you,” 

When he looked back down Flint was staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face, eyes sharp and deep. 

After a moment he nodded slowly, rubbing his beard again. 

“Well,” he paused. “Thank you, I guess. I have no idea how we ended up having this conversation, but thank you,” 

Silver laughed, suddenly feeling very drunk, his head light and fuzzy as though he’d had ten shots of vodka and not just a few beers. What was it about Flint that made him want to feel known, or seen, but also terrified of it?

“Thank me again? I like hearing you say it,” he said, intending to be teasing, but realised how charged it sounded when he saw Flint's cheeks darken. 

He went to say something, apologise or call himself an idiot, but the way Flint was looking at him made him pause. Flint’s hand dropped from his beard and then made an aborted twitch forward, before he pulled it back to his side, curling it into a fist. Silver watched, enraptured, at the play of his bones beneath the skin, the moonlight glinting off the ring that he wore, remembering the strength of it beneath his own hand. 

They stood in the quiet for a moment.

“I-“ Flint began but then stopped when the sound of steps crunching over sand reached them. Silver found himself stepping back like they had been caught in the act of…something and turned his head to watch the arrival. It was Miranda, her shoes swinging in her hand, dress swirling around her shins. 

“There you are,” she said to Flint upon reaching them, slipping her arm around his. “I was wondering where you’d got to,”

“Just getting some fresh air,” Flint smiled down at her before he briefly looked back at Silver. 

Miranda followed his gaze. 

“Thank you for tonight,” she addressed him. “It was a lot of fun,” 

“It was good having you there,” he replied sincerely. 

She looked back up at Flint. 

“Ready to go?” Flint nodded, taking her shoes for her.

“I’m leaving tomorrow, so I won’t see you again until I next come. It was really lovely to meet you,” to Silver’s surprise, she walked forward and hugged him briefly, her slim arms strong, her hair smelling of something floral. He managed to squeeze back before she let go and returned to Flint. 

“You too,” he said, waving as they started to walk off down the path, Miranda smiling as she waved before she turned away, heading with Flint into the darkness. Flint didn’t look back. 

“What the fuck was that?” Silver whispered to himself once they were out of sight, rubbing his hands down his face and slapping his palms lightly against his cheeks. He could hear that someone had gotten out the guitar in the tavern and the voices of everyone singing along drifted out towards him, sounding like it was miles away. 

So much for clearing his head when he came out here. He just felt ten times more confused, a little horny and a little embarrassed but also…Flint had actually told him something. Something vulnerable and personal and he had told it to Silver. 

He didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know if it meant anything. Probably not. Probably not…right?

He turned away from the inn, heading home, the buzz of the night wearing off and leaving an overwhelming heaviness in its wake. Maybe if he could just sleep, dreamlessly and long, then everything would make sense when he woke up. 

If he could just sleep for a while…yeah, that sounded good. Sleep it all off. It couldn’t hurt to try. 

-

Hands was on his couch again. Silver sighed, ignoring him, walking towards his bedroom, stripping off his shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed to undo his prosthetic. 

Hands followed him, not saying a word, standing in the doorframe like some kind of gatekeeper.

“I’m going to sleep,” said Silver, propping his leg up against his bedside table. 

“I came all the way here so we could talk over this job. I’ve been waiting here for hours and now you want me to-“

“I’m going to sleep,” Silver repeated, forcefully, almost feeling faint from the energy it took to say it. “I don’t give a fuck what you do. Sleep on the couch if you need to, but we’re not doing this now. We’ll talk it over in the morning,”

Hands bristled, anger flashing in his eyes as he moved into the room, walking to stand over Silver. Silver refused to cower, staring back up at him, trying not to betray how weak he was feeling. 

After a few seconds, Hands backed down, chuckling. 

“Yeah, you’re still him. I was worried you’d gone soft out here, lost your edge. But that look-“ Hands bent down so they were eye to eye, leaning in close. Silver held his gaze. “See? There is it. I missed that look,” he stood back up straight, a satisfied smile on his face. 

“See you in the morning,” he said, leaving the bedroom, his footsteps fading down the hall. Silver slowly let out the breath he had been holding, before standing with his crutch and going to close the door.

He leaned heavily against it, listening out into the rest of the house. He could hear Hands shuffling around, the tap turning on and off, a few kitchen cabinets opening. Deciding he didn’t care, he went back to his bed and laid down. 

He managed five minutes before he started crying, silently in the way he had taught himself to do when he was a child, curling onto his side so that if anyone came in it would just look like he was sleeping.

It had surprised him when Madi had first cried in front of him and she had sobbed loudly, uncaring that she was making ugly, wounded noises, sucking in breaths so hard they sounded like they hurt. His first instinct had been to shush her, to check that no one could hear, until he remembered that it wasn’t a bad thing. 

He couldn’t help it though. It was ingrained into him, something he couldn’t unlearn, something apart of him. Like whatever it was that had pleased Hands so much. He couldn’t escape it, couldn’t cut it out of himself. Could only live with it. 

And whatever that meant, whatever it led too…well. 

He guessed he would see in the morning.


	3. there's nothing to plunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang get mail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zoo wee mama this is late. like SUPER late. i have no excuses except that I'm a victim of procrastination and writers block. pls forgive me. thank you thank you for the comments/kudos, I'm so sorry it took me so long to do this chapter. 
> 
> again not beta'd, so my bad for mistakes. hope you enjoy!!

Silver sat on the bottom step of his porch, just about melting into it from the heat, watching a pack of stray dogs snooze in the shade of a palm tree. In his hand, he continuously flicked up and down the thumb drive Hands had given him that morning, the rhythmic click half lulling him to sleep. He hadn’t checked it yet. That would involve booting up his shitty half-dead laptop, which would no doubt take over an hour and lots of gentle coaxing, which he simply couldn’t be fucked doing. He had to be in the right mood for it. Otherwise, he was liable to march out onto the beach and punt the fucking thing into the ocean in frustration, and he really couldn’t afford that kind of impulsive behaviour. 

So instead, once Hands had left with instructions to make his decision within the week, he’d slinked out onto the porch, sat his ass down and hadn’t moved since. He’d shed his shirt and dumped the contents of his water bottle over his head, cooling himself down a bit, but by now he’d started to dry and the relief from the breeze wasn’t doing much anymore. If he were less lazy, he would drag himself down to the sea and marinate himself in the water like a chicken wing, but that meant actually walking somewhere, which he wasn’t feeling up to. 

He was feeling significantly less emotional than he had been last night. Good god had he...had he cried? He slumped a little further down the stairs, a flush of heat washing over his cheeks as he remembered all but sobbing himself to sleep. That was embarrassing. One tiny problem and he’d thrown himself into a hole of self-pity like there was no tomorrow. Hands was right, he’d gone soft.

He scowled when he realised he had admitted to Hands being right about something, albeit if only in his head. He was sick of this. He was an adult who could handle shit without losing it when the smallest thing went wrong. 

“I’m an adult,” he whispered to himself as a reinforcement. An adult who could absolutely lie and pretend his way through the most desperate of situations and that was what he was planning on doing. 

He would look at the job. See if it was worth it. If not, he’d tell Hands in no uncertain terms to go get fucked and if it were...he was torn between hoping it was and hoping it wasn’t. The promise of a generous payment was starting to get to him and the lingering threat of Rogers in the back of his mind. If he could just get enough money...well he didn’t know what then. All he knew was that money solved problems, a lesson he had learned early in life, one that never failed to be true wherever he went. 

He whined a little to himself, shaking his legs and rocking his body left and right to try and expel the nervous energy that had been gathering. 

“I’m an adult,” he repeated louder, and one of the stray dogs lifted its head to look at him with heavy eyes, before going back to sleep. 

He clapped his hands onto his thighs, deciding to just get it over with and try to get his laptop working when his stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t had anything except some coffee earlier. His fridge and pantry were woefully understocked, containing only some beer and some mouldy baby carrots he had bought with the illusion of eating them as a healthy snack. He had not. He desperately needed to do some grocery shopping. He began to make a mental shopping list in his head; dish soap, more coffee, toothpaste…

His stomach panged again. 

Squinting, he scanned the top of the palm trees, eyeing the coconuts. Maybe he’d go over and shake a tree to try and get one to fall, but he had made the mistake of doing that when he had first arrived and was immediately hit on the head with a coconut and got concussed for a week. He wasn’t too keen on repeating that experience. 

After a few minutes of envious gazing at the fruits, there was a cluster of sound to his right and he turned to see a group of local kids turning off onto the dirt path that served as the road. Aha. Now that could work. 

When the kids got closer, kicking a dirty soccer ball between them, Silver called them over. One of the boys, Chepe, kicked the ball at him and Silver stretched out his right foot to stop it. It caught the edge of his toes and bounced up into his face, to the utter joy of the kids, and he soon found himself swamped by cackling children who were taking delight in his misfortune. 

Silver sighed, lying back on the steps despite how uncomfortable it was and accepting his lot in life. He closed his eyes, pointedly ignoring the kids as they pushed him back and forth, yelling his name, but couldn’t help himself breaking into a smile as they pulled him to sit back up. 

“You’re all terrible children,” he said, opening his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest as the kids settled on the steps next to him, throwing the ball back and forth. 

“Don’t be grumpy, mister Silver,” said Chepe, one of the kids belonging to the lady who owned the local fruit and veg stall, handing him the ball. Silver threw it in a high arch behind his head and heard the clamouring of the kids as they all reached to catch it. 

They chatted for a while, the kids talking about anything and everything, not particularly caring if Silver was listening or replying, and Silver found himself relaxing into it, enjoying the simplicity of it, the effortless happiness they all had. He could feel several of them doing little braids in his hair and resigned himself to untangling the mess of curls later. 

Remembering why he had called them over, he nudged Chepe and pointed to the coconuts.

“Would you mind getting a coconut for your poor crippled neighbour?” 

Looking for any excuse to climb stuff, Chepe nodded enthusiastically and he and his younger sister raced over to the tree. Chepe wriggled up the branchless palm in a way that always confounded Silver, as quick and easy as if he were a monkey. Even when he had two legs, Silver would never have been able to do something like that. When Chepe reached the top, he inspected a few of the coconuts until he decided on a cluster and twisted them until they fell to the ground. As they did, his sister gathered them up and ran them back over. Silver directed one of the other kids to the machete in his kitchen to cut them and he watched Chepe climb back down the tree, checking to make sure he didn’t fall. 

Of course, he didn’t, jumping off the bottom with a little flourish and running back with a big grin on his face. Silver ruffled the tight curls on his head and Chepe laughed, pushing away his hand and feinting a punch at Silver. 

The kids lingered for a little while longer, helping him eat some of the coconuts, before they meandered off again, apparently going to play on the beach. Silver busied himself after their departure by greedily drinking the water from the coconuts, a blessed reprieve from the cloistering heat. It cooled his skin where it messily dripped onto his chest and arms, a breeze coming in from the ocean, where clouds were steadily rolling in. After he had eaten enough to feel slightly comatose, he wriggled down until he was mostly in the sand, under the shade of the trees, his head against the bottom step. Despite the awkward position, he stayed, not wanting to go back inside just yet despite his earlier resolve, avoiding the lingering smell of Hands, the oppressive atmosphere he had left over the house. 

He was just drifting off, tired as hell from the shitty night of sleep he had gotten, having woken at random intervals in sweaty anxiety, when he heard shuffling on the sand in front of him. Blearing, he opened one eye and gave a start. 

“Ah, fuck,” he said, laboriously sitting up. “You scared me,” 

Flint looked amused, his head tilted to the side as he surveyed the scene. Silver remembered he was cradling a half-eaten husk of coconut to his chest like some kind of teddy, and he belatedly discarded it onto the sand. 

“Been eating...coconuts?” Flint asked, nodding to the chopped up pieces on the porch. Silver realised that with him sitting in a food coma at the bottom of the stairs and a trail of half-devoured coconuts behind him, it looked like he had gone on some coconut rampage and then fallen in a heap at the front of his house. 

“Oh no, uh...the neighbourhood kids were here. They got the coconuts for me. They left a bit ago,” he explained poorly, rubbing his beard to relieve some of the tackiness from spilling coconut all over it. 

“Uh-huh,” replied Flint like he didn’t quite believe him, crossing his arms over his chest. His strange mood from the night before seemed to have passed, and he was back to his usual self-assured self. Not that that would explain why he had decided to grace Silver with his presence. 

“Miranda gone?” Silver asked and Flint nodded, head turning to look out towards the water.

“Took her back on the morning ferry,” he said. “I think she was glad to be going back to proper civilisation,” 

“Yeah,” Silver laughed, remembering Miranda’s clothes, the way she held herself. “I can imagine,” 

They lapsed into a brief moment of silence, before Flint reached into his back pocket, producing what looked like a folded up piece of paper. 

“It’s the recipe,” he said, passing it over to Silver, who unfolded it. In all honesty, he had completely forgotten about the thing. The last week or so had been a bit tense. 

“Oh,” said Silver, dully reading back over the familiar instructions, as though they might have changed. He frowned, tucked his hair behind his ear from where it had fallen over his face and held the paper out. 

“You keep it,” he said, liking the idea of Flint having it, bussing around his lonely kitchen, reading off of Silver’s cramped handwriting, enjoying the image as much as it saddened him for some reason. “I know it off by heart anyway,”

Hesitantly, like it was some weird prank Silver was pulling, Flint took the paper off him, folded it, and tucked it back into his pocket. He nodded once. 

“Ok,” he didn’t thank him, which made Silver smile, grasping at the fuzzy memory of when he had first come over for the recipe and Silver had yelled after him in the night, looking for a thank you. He could handle not being thanked. Being the focus of Flint’s sincere thank you, that had been harder, and a lot more frightening for reasons he couldn’t quite comprehend. 

Flint made to walk away, then stopped, turning back. 

“I was thinking...once it’s been figured out I mean...would you let me know when the next trivia night is on?” Flint smiled, almost sharply. “As it turns out I’m rather competitive,” 

Silver huffed a laugh in surprise, nodding vigorously before he realised how eager he seemed and tried to make it look more casual. 

“I noticed that,” he replied and Flint raised an eyebrow at him. “But sure...I’ll let you know,” 

Flint didn’t deign him with a reply, just eyed him levelly, intimidating smile still on his face, before he turned and walked off. 

Silver huffed out a long breath once he was out of hearing range, lying back down on the stairs, grumbling at the twinge of pain in his back and the sun now peeking through the palm leaves to blind him. He bought up a hand, slapping it over his eyes. 

“Get yourself together,” he mumbled to himself, then pushed himself up off the stairs, leaning on the railing heavily as he hopped up the three steps to the porch, grabbing his crutch where it was propped up. 

The flyscreen shut with a harshly loud noise that never failed to make his shoulders hike up, hinges solely in need of repair. He made his way over to the couch, nose wrinkling at the sour stench of tobacco that Hands had left on it, wedging his hand between the cushions where he was pretty sure his laptop was. When his fingers only found a lost hair tie, he moved his hand around to the other side, triumphantly producing his laptop from its resting place. 

He placed it heavily onto the coffee table, lifting up the screen, none too gently. In his experience, banging it around generally made it actually run better than worse. As expected, it stayed stubbornly dead when he jammed the power button, and he slammed it shut again in frustration, beginning the laborious task of finding the charger. 

He stood in the middle of the living room, hands on his hips as he desperately tried to conjure the memory of where he last had the thing. You’d think living in a tiny shack would make things harder to lose, but no. Ho, no. Nope. 

He was half under his bed, having crawled beneath it in his search and then in his incredulous rage of ‘where the fucking fuck is it’ decided to take an anger nap there and then, when his phone started buzzing insistently in his pocket. 

“Who’s there?” he found himself saying in his half-conscious state before becoming fully coherent, pushing his body backwards with his palms awkwardly until he was out, fishing his phone from his pocket. 

He thumbed open the code, squinting at the sudden brightness.

Max was typing in the group chat.

‘meeting rn’ read the first one.

‘’like rn drop whatever you’re doing’

‘come to eleanors’

The messages continued in a similar vein, with a few replies from Jack asking what was up and Anne sending a few ‘???’ even though Silver was sure she and Jack were standing right next to each other as they typed. 

“Shit,” he cursed, grabbing the edge of his bed and hauling himself to a standing position. That wasn’t like Max. Anxious Max meant anxious everyone because if something could make her outwardly stressed then it would undoubtedly make everyone else hysterical. 

He began heading for the door and then remembered the thumb drive in his pocket. He grabbed it out, holding in it his flat palm. An almost overwhelming wave of panic began to rush over him and he clapped his other hand over his throat where it threatened to spill over. 

“Nope,” he said, opening his bedside drawer, tossing the offending item in and slamming it shut. Time to compartmentalize the shit out of that. He imagined a wall, enclosing all the crap that had happened last night and that morning, and then imagined that wall sweeping it right the fuck out of the way into the back of his mind. Compartmentalisation: complete. He grabbed a discarded shirt from his bed, smelling it and then pulling it over his head when he judged it to be clean. 

He made for the door, forgoing his prosthesis where it was propped up against the coffee table to fix an annoying loose screw. Another repair needed along with the door. He also had to tighten the faucet on the kitchen sink. He would have to see if he could borrow Jack and Anne’s toolbox. Well, they called it their toolbox, but in reality, it was just a wrench, a lonely screwdriver and a roll of duct tape shoved into an old cookie tin. Still, it was more than the machete he dual used in the kitchen as well as for ‘repairing’ stuff, which was code for whacking whatever needed repairing and then pretending to be shocked when he only made it worse. 

It was about a fifteen-minute walk to Eleanor’s place from his shack, but he made it in ten, hopping at a speed he was sure made him appear manic to whoever witnessed him crutching along like he was trying to evade the law. 

He only realised how puffed he was when he went up the stairs and paused on the veranda, leaning heavily on his crutch and breathing hard. 

As he was regaining his breath and trying to stretch out the kink in his back, Max appeared next to him, looking as immaculate as ever. Her hair had been braided back off her face into an elaborate bun, a set of earrings matching the necklace resting between her breasts. 

“Bad news?” he asked and she raised an eyebrow. 

“Isn’t it always?” she replied, moving past him through the front door. He followed her as she took a left past the foyer and old large staircase, entering what seemed to be a home office. Behind the desk at the end of the room, Eleanor was sitting in a fancy leather chair, frowning deeply at a desktop. 

She didn’t look up as they came in, sighing as she clicked furiously on the mouse. Max continued into the room, making herself comfortable in the chair on the other side of the desk. She pulled a tablet from her bag and began tapping on it with her light pink coloured nails. 

Silver, unsure what to do, sat in the old leather couch that was pushed up against the wall, looking around the room. On the desk, there was a framed photo with a man, woman and child smiling at the camera. From the striking similarity between the blonde woman and the child, Silver figured it must have been of Eleanor and her parents when she was a child. Eleanor resembled little of her father, someone that Silver had never met, favouring her mother in both hair and face. 

He looked over to said woman as she huffed, flipping a piece of paper forcefully, and then scrambling after it as it began slipping off the edge of the desk. She grabbed it and slapped it back down, tapping it with her forefinger as if to say ‘stay right there’. Just as he was thinking about speaking up, the two continuing to ignore him in favour of their screens, the door burst open. 

Jack reached out a hand and stopped the door as it banged against the wall and came swinging back, narrowly missing hitting him in the face. 

“Ah, sorry,” he apologised as he pushed it open more carefully, Anne at his side. “There’s a bit of a draught,”

Outside, Silver had noticed the picking up of wind and the darkening of light as the clouds that arrived at the island as he napped began to cover the sun. Another storm, it seemed. He sighed. Retrospectively, living somewhere tropical wasn’t really the best place to live when you suffered from phantom pain. The island went back and forth between two kinds of weather; either raining and hot or not raining and hot as balls. Still, he would be damned if he would live somewhere that ever went below 25 degrees. He didn’t own any item of clothing that went past either his knees or elbows and he never would if he had any say in it. 

Jack slumped into the spare space of the couch, toeing at Silver’s shin in greeting. Anne perched on the sofa arm next to Jack, sipping steadily on an iced tea. Silver’s mouth watered at the sight and he gazed longingly at the condensation on the bottle. Anne caught him staring, and keeping his gaze, put the straw back up to her mouth, drinking the last few mouthfuls. 

Silver made an offended noise, watching sadly as she threw the empty tea clear across the room and into a waste bin. 

“Nice shot,” commented Jack, who then turned to Max and Eleanor. “So?”

Eleanor flipped through a series of documents on her desk, landing on a cream folder and passing it to Max, who then passed it to Jack. 

Jack pulled out several leaves of paper and both Silver and Anne leaned into him to read it as well. On the top, in very official writing, it read QUIET TITLE COMPLAINT, Eleanor’s address printed in the left top corner.

“Cock,” cursed Jack, pulling the paper closer and squinting at it. Silver quickly scanned the page, registering the words separately, but having no idea what they were saying in context. The legal jargon escaped him and he leaned back, looking to Max instead. Both Jack and Anne seemed to come to the realisation that without the proper knowledge, they also had no idea what the fuck the paper was on about, turning their heads towards Max in tandem. 

Max gave a put upon sigh, reaching back to grab the document. 

“You should probably brush up on your legal knowledge,” she suggested and Jack shrugged. 

“Until now, my relationship with the law has been more about breaking it than understanding it,” Jack admitted and Max gave a conceding ‘mmm’, tilting her head. Silver found that description to be his current situation as well. 

“In short, Rogers has made a legal complaint about the land. We have two options; don’t reply and the land is conceded to him, or do reply, and we go to court,” 

“Court?” Anne asked, sounding about as exasperated as Silver felt. 

“Yes. Court,” Eleanor sighed, placing her head into her hands.

“Did you get this in the post?” Silver asked and Max nodded. 

“I expect you’ll all be getting one as well,” she said and Silver contemplated this. There wasn’t exactly a ...traditional postage system on the island. There was no post office, and if he ever ordered something it generally arrived magnificently late at any given time of the day. Over his year on the island, he had never actually seen anyone delivering mail, so in his head, he always gave his polite thanks to the ‘post ghost’ when a package would find its way to his porch at two in the morning.

Thinking on that, there wasn’t a court either. All they really had was the inn which doubled as an extremely casual resident and tourist services, and the old clinic that was run by a no-nonsense doctor by the name of Howell who was undoubtedly forging prescriptions left and right. 

“I shall look forward to that,” Jack commented, slumping so far down on the couch his ass was nearly hanging off of it, scratching thoughtfully at his sideburns. 

“So do we…” Silver paused, searching for the appropriate legal word. “Do we contest it?” 

“Yes. If we don’t he’ll be granted a clear title. But…” Max trailed off, glancing up at Eleanor. 

“But?” 

“Even if we do, he’ll force it to go to a public auction,” 

Jack’s feet scrabbled against the floorboards as he pushed himself back up to sitting straight. 

“A public auction?” he repeated, eyes wide. “How is that fair? He’s a fucking billionaire! We have no hope in hell of outbidding him,” 

Max didn’t reply, eyes focused on the soft pink polish painted onto her toenails. Her lack of response seemed to rattle Jack, who leaned forward. 

“Max, what are we-” 

“I don’t know!” she snapped, eyes flitting up to narrow at him. “We will figure something out,”

Jack looked as though he wanted to argue, but then clicked his mouth shut.

“Look,” Max began, softening considerably as she leant forward and briefly squeezed Jack’s hand where it was resting on his knee. “For today, at least, let’s just regroup, ok?”

“Ok,” Jack agreed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Take this,” Max said, placing Eleanor’s copy back on the desk and pulling her own from her bag. She handed it to Jack. “Give it a proper read through. I have to go back to the inn,” she said, checking her phone for the time. She stood, slipping her phone into her pocket and smoothing her palms over the front of her skirt. 

“I’ve put Eme on tonight,” she said, directing her words at Silver. “So don’t worry about coming in. I’ve been wanting to get her to take a full-time position anyway. It’s too hard with just you and Randall,” 

Silver made no complaints. Even though the inn was fairly small which meant they never got overly busy, it was still a stretch sharing the load between two of them. Plus, he liked Eme. She was sweet and a quick-study, adding her own flair to the kitchen whenever they needed backup or couldn’t make a shift. It’d be nice to have an extra pair of hands. 

“Got it,” he said in reply to Max, standing along with Jack and Anne. 

“Keep us updated,” Max said to Eleanor, who nodded and waved them off as the four made their way back into the foyer. They said their goodbyes on the veranda, Anne bestowing a kiss upon Max’s cheek as they went their separate ways. 

When they reached Jack and Anne’s house, the mood was significantly soberer than it had been two nights ago. Jack kicked off his flip-flops dramatically, one flying across the room and onto the kitchen bench before he headed to sit in the middle of the couch. 

They sat in silence for a good while, each lost to their own thoughts, the only sound coming from the overhead fan and the occasional rustling of paper as Anne went through the papers at the kitchen table.

Silver found himself on the new rug, flat on his back, studying the water damage on the roof. Every now and then he tilted his head up to sip from the juice they had caved and bought on their way back to the house. It was more alcohol than watermelon, the man behind the cart on the side of the sandy path upending a bottle of rum into the cups at their request. On his perch on the couch, Jack was sitting cross-legged, his frowning face a contrast to the squiggly straw he was sucking his coconut water through. 

“Do you think we drink too much?” Silver questioned as he started to feel a bit tipsy. He could barely taste the watermelon under the significant amount of rum.

Jack pulled off his straw and stared down at his drink in concentration as he thought about it. 

“Nah,” he said eventually, sticking his tongue out and guiding the straw back into his mouth as he continued to drink. 

Silver sighed and laid his head back down. 

He heard the sound of papers being tapped against the table as Anne straightened them.

“I have an idea,” she said and Silver lifted his head to awkwardly look at her. 

Jack stopped drinking with a gross slurp, wiping a hand across his mouth and asking “What?” 

Anne sighed like it was obvious. 

“We kill him,”

Silver and Jack looked at each other. 

“Can we...kill him?” Jack asked like he was actually contemplating it. 

“No,” said Silver, not liking the way Jack was beginning to look enthused. “We absolutely cannot kill him,” 

“Ah, but,” Jack held out a finger, “Why not?”

“How on earth would we manage to kill him?” 

“I don’t know! There are plenty of ways you can kill someone,” at Silver’s raised eyebrow he spluttered. “Don’t look at me! It was Anne’s idea!” 

“All of Anne’s ideas are to kill someone!” 

Jack groaned, tipping his head back onto the back on the couch with a thud. 

“Uh, fine. So we can’t kill him. What do you suggest then?” 

Silver didn’t reply, following Jack’s suit and letting his head fall to the ground. He squinted at a particular water stain that looked like a duck. 

“We need money,” he said.

Jack laughed humourlessly. 

“Yeah. Isn’t that always the way?”

Silver rubbed at his eyes, stifling a yawn. A wave of exhaustion rolled over him from where he had pushed it down earlier, distracted by their sudden new predicament. His body felt like it was sinking into the soft rug. 

His mind drifted back to the thumb drive in his bedside table, suddenly feeling an itch of curiosity at what it could contain. Before, he hadn’t particularly wanted to know what was on it, whatever job Hands had in store for him. But now…

They needed money. That much was clear. And maybe he just had a way to get it. 

-

He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, he was blinking slowly up at the ceiling again, the light much softer and more orange, telling him it was around sunset. 

“Hnngrr,” he mumbled, slowly pushing himself onto his elbows. He felt significantly shittier than he had when he had fallen asleep, somehow even more tired and lethargic. 

He rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his forehead into the rug, desperately trying to shake off the remnants of sleep still clinging to him. It didn’t seem to work, and he found himself asleep again for what only could have been a few minutes when something pointy shoved into his sides. 

“Ah,” he jolted into surprise, wriggling around until he could look up at his assailant. Anne stared down at him, looking just as rumpled as he felt, her index finger still stuck out from when she had poked him. On the couch, Jack had rearranged himself until he was lying down, an arm flung over his eyes as he lightly snored. 

“Did we all fall asleep?” Silver questioned and Anne nodded, wiping a hand over her face before going over to Jack. 

Well, so much for regrouping. They had barely spoken about it before they’d all taken a very long midday nap. 

Silver sighed, tucking his chin to his chest, before forcing himself to sit upright. Thankfully, the storm that had been drifting in had appeared to go over them, the sky overcast but not overly so when he glanced out the window. 

He gripped the edge of the coffee table and stood, giving up after a few seconds and sitting on it, feeling dizzy. Behind him, he could hear Jack waking up, and a few murmured words passing between him and Anne, and he almost felt like an intruder in their intimate familiarity. As he sat, trying to rid himself of his post-nap headache by rubbing his temples, Jack shuffled into the kitchen, splashing his face with some water from the tap. 

The contemplative silence was broken by the front door opening, Vane standing in the frame. 

“What’s up with you guys?” he questioned, taking in their melancholy postures. Jack sighed, drying his hands on a dishtowel before making for the papers still on the dining table. 

Vane, of course, was angry, though Silver had never really known the man to not be. He zoned out as Jack and Vane argued for a little, only paying attention again when Vane started heading back towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” Jack questioned, following him. 

“There’s some good surf down at the south beach. I need to clear my head,”

“I’ll come with you,” Jack said, scampering back to the kitchen to retrieve his flipflop from where it had flown before, jamming it onto his foot. He turned to Silver and Anne. “You want to come?” 

Silver thought for a moment before the idea of sitting on the sand and listening to the waves formed solidly in his mind and he nodded. 

“Why not,” he said, grabbing his crutch and slipping his shoe back on where he had left it by the door. Anne followed wordlessly and then they were zooming through town, stopping by Vane’s to grab his board and then continuing on their way. The cool breeze succeeded in waking him up the rest of the way, calming the anxious thoughts swirling around in his mind. 

Once they arrived, they sat on the shore, just out of reach of the receding tide, watching Vane ride the waves, confident and calm with the board beneath his feet. Silver felt a pang of envy as he watched, kicking his stump in the sand, longing sitting heavy in his sternum, wishing it were him out there instead of Vane. Before his leg, he used to be ok at surfing. At running, at skateboarding, at dancing. Things that required two feet, or at least a better prosthetic than he could afford. He missed it.

He ground his fist into his stomach, breathing deeply, trying to dispel the ache and blew out a long breath, imagining the feeling going out with it.

Next to him, Jack pulled a joint from his pocket and struggled to light it in the wind. Silver leaned over, cupping his hands around the lighter and Jack took a long hit, holding it in for a few seconds with his eyes screwed shut, and then coughing it all out. Anne laughed at him.

“Oof,” said Jack, taking another pull, managing to not cough this time. “That’s some strong shit,” he passed it off to Anne and very slowly laid back in the sand, kicking his feet in the air until his flip-flops went flying, and then buried his toes in the sand.

“Gimme,” said Silver, clapping his hands at Anne impatiently as she took a third hit. She opened her eyes wide as she held it in, and then leant forward, blowing it all into Silver’s face.

“Ugh!” he titled away, holding his hands over his burning eyes.

“Don’t rush me,” she said but passed it over anyway once he had wiped away some stray tears.

“So mean,” he said, breathing in, instantly feeling light-headed. He blew out. “Huh. This _is_ strong shit,” After another go, he passed it off to Jack and laid down next to him, following his lead by kicking his shoe off and digging in his foot.__

_ _“Wow. This feels really good. Anne, do it,” they all laid in a line, wriggling their toes in the sand, watching the sky above them steadily get darker._ _

_ _“Oh, damn. My turn again?” Silver asked when Jack passed him the blunt and smoked it lazily until it was wrestled off him again by Anne._ _

_ _“Isn’t it weird how like, night time is the natural state? Like daytime is only because of the big ball of fire that our planet orbits?” Jack said, holding his hands up above him like he was trying to lift up the sky._ _

_ _“Can you not philosophize? I really can’t handle it right now,” replied Silver, feeling like he would implode if he started contemplating shit like space and time._ _

_ _“Fine,” huffed Jack and he started singing instead, some song that sounded familiar, but Silver couldn’t quite place. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sound of Jack’s voice and the waves, even though they sounded far away, and the feel of the sand on his toes._ _

_ _After a good while, he heard something off to his side, what was probably a bug and he waved his hand around to try and dispel it. It went on for what must have been hours, but his limbs were too heavy to get up and actively shoo it away. He only opened his eyes when someone shoved at his shoulder and he jolted up to see Vane sitting next to them in the sand. It was fully dark._ _

_ _“Holy shit,” he gasped, holding a hand to his heart, which was now racing. “How long have we been lying here? Is it nearly morning?”_ _

_ _Vane raised an eyebrow, shaking his head._ _

_ _“It’s been like thirty minutes,” Silver looked around, feeling deeply confused. He could have sworn it had been hours._ _

_ _“Really? What the hell was that noise?” he asked, lying back down, taking long breaths to calm his heartbeat._ _

_ _“That was me talking to you, idiot,”_ _

_ _“Oh,” Silver said, feeling sheepish. “Really? I thought it was a bug or something,”_ _

_ _Vane snorted and leaned over to smack Jack on his bare chest. At some point, he seemed to have lost his shirt and Silver spied it bundled under Anne’s head like a pillow. Jack startled slightly, opening his eyes and glaring._ _

_ _“Ugh, what?”_ _

_ _“You greedy bastards smoke all of it?”_ _

_ _“Hang on,” said Jack, flopping around awkwardly, managing to get a hand to his back pocket and pulling out another joint. “Tada,”_ _

_ _“Do you just always carry those on you?” asked Silver and Jack gave a peace sign. He suddenly sat up fully and heaved himself to his feet._ _

_ _“I want to go swimming,” he announced as he shoved off his shorts and began running towards the water, bare ass luminescent in the moonlight._ _

_ _Once he reached the water, he immediately fell forward into it and disappeared, re-emerging further out a few seconds later, floating on his back._ _

_ _“I’d just like to go one week without seeing Jack’s dick,” sighed Silver. “One week,”_ _

_ _Vane laughed out a bunch of smoke from where he had lit up, leaning back to sit on his board._ _

_ _Silver pulled off his shirt and stood heavily with the aid of his crutch, unbuttoning his shorts before dropping them in the sand._ _

_ _“This isn’t a nude beach, you know,” said Anne, who was still curling her toes in the sand._ _

_ _“What are you, the nude police?” Silver asked and made his way towards the water. Once he was in reach, he flung his crutch back onto the shore and hopped the few steps into the water with as much dignity as he could muster. The water felt like silk against his bare skin and everything seemed to sharpen as it lifted him from the ground as he swam forward. Out here, all the weight from the land seemed to wash away and he felt a lightness that made him push forward through the water with purpose, revelling in the freedom of movement. He ducked underwater and listened to the pulse of the waves until his lungs were bursting and he broke through the surface, gasping for air._ _

_ _A few feet away from him, Jack was still on his back, paddling himself in circles. He hadn’t seemed to notice Silver._ _

_ _Seeing an opportunity, Silver ducked back underwater and swum towards him, and then as swiftly as he could, wrapped his arms around Jack’s middle and pulled him under. Jack flailed, his long limbs flinging ungainly, and they broke the surface together, Silver laughing loudly and Jack yelling._ _

_ _“You fucking-“ Jack shouted and both of them got pushed back under as he wrestled Silver into a headlock. A wave broke over them, making both of them tumble forward, awkwardly crashing into each other and Silver popped back up out of the water, holding his ribs._ _

_ _“Fuck! Why are your elbows so pointy?” he wheezed and Jack laughed, coughing halfway through when another wave rolled past and water went in his mouth._ _

_ _“Having fun touching dicks?” Silver turned to see Anne approaching them, her slim frame swamped by her wet t-shirt. Behind her, Vane was lazily back-stroking along._ _

_ _“I actually did touch your dick by accident just then,” said Jack, still coughing up water._ _

_ _“Just guys being dudes,” replied Silver and Jack started laughing again, hacking on water every now and then._ _

_ _They swam for a while longer until Anne declared she was hungry and Silver’s stomach growled in agreement, realising he hadn’t eaten since his coconut feast earlier that day. It was an awkward process stumbling back onto the beach and then wriggling his shorts back up his wet body, but he managed it without falling his bare ass onto the sand more than twice so he considered it a win. _ _

_ _They made their way back to the bikes, Silver behind Vane, the surfboard balanced on both of their heads, while Anne sat with Jack. The trip to the inn seemed to take forever and Silver began counting the palm trees to pass the time when he frowned. _ _

_ _“Wait,” he said, shaking his head and staring at the sand below his feet. It was as he thought. They weren’t moving at all. “Have we left yet?”_ _

_ _“Oh,” said Jack, turning the key in the ignition. “Whoops,” _ _

_ _Silver burst out laughing at the realisation that they had all been sitting in silence on the bikes, not even going anywhere. He was still laughing when they actually pulled up at the inn not long after, the surfboard falling from their heads and flattening the sand next to them. _ _

_ _Jack and Anne climbed off their bike and watched boredly as it tipped over and landed on the ground. _ _

_ _“It’ll be fine,” Jack declared while Vane laboriously tried to stop his kickstand from sinking into the soft sand. _ _

_ _Deciding to leave him to it, Silver followed Jack and Anne to the door of the inn, where they were promptly turned around by Max when she took in their wet forms. Instead, they settled on the outdoor lounges and Silver closed his eyes as he sunk into the cushions, listening to the low tide. When he opened them again, Max was standing in front of the lounges, placing down a tray of drinks onto the woven bamboo table. _ _

_ _“I see you’ve been productive,” she commented dryly, the string lights around the palms behind her making her seem to glow._ _

_ _“You did tell us to relax for today,” Jack pointed out. _ _

_ _“No,” Max shook her head, her now loose hair waving around her hypnotically. Silver dully thought that he should ask her what conditioner she used. “I told you to regroup. Not relax,” _ _

_ _She didn’t seem mad though, and she reached across and ran a hand over Anne’s head, pushing back the wet locks from her face. _ _

_ _“You guys hungry?” she questioned and Silver’s stomach growled in lieu of an answer. He patted it selfconsciously as they all turned to look at him, many an eyebrow raised. _ _

_ _“Fuck off,” he told them, grabbing a beer from the tray. _ _

_ _Max laughed. _ _

_ _“Noted,” she headed back inside, already knowing what each of them would want to eat, the steady rumble of conversation drifting over to their outside seats. Distinguishable from the rest, he could hear Gates laughing loudly at something, no doubt one hand clapping hard on Billy’s back in a scene familiar to the whole island, of the pair seated at their usual table as they ate their dinner together, something they did every day._ _

_ _Max ate with them when the food came, her feet tucked up under her from where she had wedged between Jack and Anne. They didn’t speak, comfortable in each other’s presence and when they had finished and bid her goodbye, they rode back to Jack and Anne’s in equal silence._ _

_ _Jack and Vane headed off down the hallway, while Anne sat on the couch and Silver headed for the kitchen. _ _

_ _He leaned on the sink, looking out the window into the backyard, at Jack’s half-assed attempt at landscaping, the old hammock slung between two palms where Silver had slept on more than one occasion, the incredibly distressed looking shade sail. The tangled weaving of solar-powered party lights strung across every possible surface that lit up at night without fail and attracted every single bug in a hundred-metre radius, the dugout fire pit he had roasted a myriad of foods over. He felt nostalgic for it, even though it was right there._ _

_ _Shaking his head, he turned away, catching sight of the bottle of dish soap on the counter. Sensing an opportunity, he looked around to make sure no one was looking, then pulled an empty jam jar from the cupboard that held old reusable containers. As he was halfway done pouring liquid into the jar, he tensed as someone appeared at his elbow._ _

_ _“Are you stealing our dish soap?” Anne asked, watching him with a disbelieving face._ _

_ _He began to lower the bottle, but she just shrugged._ _

_ _“I mean, it’s sad, but I don’t care. Take it if you want,” she dismissed and wandered over to pull a drink from the fridge. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Silver finished pouring and tightened the lid on the jar. God, he was a man bought low. Stealing dish soap from someone else’s kitchen. That was a new record._ _

_ _“Can I borrow your toolbox?” he asked and she nodded, opening the cupboard under the sink, pulling it out. The cookie tin rattled pathetically as she handed it over. _ _

_ _He sighed, thinking about what was waiting for him at home, straightening from where he had leant against the kitchen bench. _ _

_ _“I’m heading off,” he said and Anne just waved absently, walking off down the hallway. He could hear Vane and Jack talking from the bedroom and he watched Anne disappear through its doorframe, and then her low tones joining the conversation. _ _

_ _He decided to leave them to it, heading for the front door, letting it swing shut behind him. It was a little awkward, one arm occupied with his crutch while the other cradled the toolbox and jam jar to his chest but he made it work, if not a little more lopsided than usual. _ _

_ _Town was lively as he passed down the familiar roads, most of the local families settling in for dinner, the hum of conversation and smells of homecooked food reaching him on the street. He greeted a few faces and skittered out of the way of some younger kids tearing up the sand with their bikes as their parents yelled at them to come in from the doorway._ _

_ _The noise and light gradually begin to fade as he got closer to his house as further away from the centre of town, heading towards the quieter and less dense outskirts. There were no streetlights, but the faint moonlight and glow from house lights were enough to guide him._ _

_ _As he turned down the road to his house, he was suddenly facing Flint, who must have been walking parallel with him from town but on different streets. In his hand, he had a grocery back, the leafy head of a group of carrots sticking out the top. _ _

_ _Dammit. Silver still had to go shopping for food at some point. _ _

_ _He found himself walking alongside Flint without any words spoken, continuing on their way down the road. _ _

_ _ Flint glanced down at the toolbox in his arms. _ _

_ _“Made cookies?” he questioned and Silver frowned, confused, before he barked out a laugh. _ _

_ _“Oh, no! No cookies. I need to do some handyman stuff,” he explained, stopping so he could lift the lid on the tin, mindful not to drop the dish soap. He could almost pinpoint the exact second he saw Flint’s soul leave his body._ _

_ _“What,” he said, staring at the toolbox like it had murdered his entire family. “is that,”_ _

_ _“A toolbox,” Silver replied, and Flint reacted bodily, taking a step back in offence. _ _

_ _“How is that -” he pointed at the pitiful display inside the cookie tin, “in any sense of the word a toolbox?” _ _

_ _“Well, it’s a box - or, box-adjacent, and it…” Silver paused, the look on Flint’s face making him almost not want to finish the sentence. “...houses tools?”_ _

_ _Flint’s arms snapped out at a speed that made Silver jump and he slammed the lid shut, lifting it up in front of Silver’s face. _ _

_ _“This,” he shook the tin for emphasis, “Is not a toolbox,” _ _

_ _“If you say so,” Silver replied mildly, pushing the tin away with his finger. Flint pulled it back, holding it as it would suddenly bite. He glared down at it a second longer, before he looked back up at Silver, face set in determination. _ _

_ _“Follow me,” he said, and then not bothering to check if Silver was doing as he said, turned and took off down the street. _ _

_ _“Wha-” Silver began, and then coming to terms that he probably wouldn’t get an answer, crutched desperately to catch up. Flint kept up his angry march all the way until they reached his house, stomping up the porch steps in a way that somehow managed to be slightly adorable as well as intimidating. _ _

_ _Flint disappeared through the door and figuring that was as much of an invitation as he was going to receive, followed him, shutting the door behind him with his foot._ _

_ _He couldn’t spot Flint when he looked around the living room and adjacent kitchen but could hear clunking and rustling from down the hallway. Warily, he followed the noise and saw Flint rummaging around in the laundry, mindfully avoiding looking into the open door he passed to preserve Flint’s privacy, despite the burning curiosity. _ _

_ _Said man was crouching in front of a linen closet, the upper half of his body almost fully inside. He was muttering darkly to himself and there was a loud clang as he appeared to drop something, followed by a very tiny ‘ow’. _ _

_ _Silver sighed, and deciding it was best not to interfere, hoisted himself up onto the washing machine, jam jar of dish soap settled in his lap, swinging his legs in a way he was sure made him look childish. _ _

_ _He could smell whatever laundry powder Flint used, something citrusy, and he traced his finger along the grooves of the washing machine, feeling sand under the touch. That was something about living on the beach; you never truly got the sand out of things. He lifted a hand to his hair, tugging on one of the braids still intact from that morning and a few grains from lying on the sand earlier fell onto his lap. He wrinkled his nose, gathering it all into a high bun, the strands feeling stiff from the saltwater. _ _

_ _Flint gave another annoyed huff, before trying to move out of the cupboard. He succeeded in hitting his head on the shelf, cursing as he rubbed at it. _ _

_ _“Don’t laugh,” he warned Silver, even though he couldn’t see him to know that Silver had been biting his lip to stop from doing just so. _ _

_ _“I would never,” he said solemnly as Flint stood, turning around. He paused. _ _

_ _“What?” Silver questioned, pushing himself off the washing machine, belatedly realising it could be considered rude. _ _

_ _“Nothing,” Flint replied quickly, shouldering past Silver to place the cookie tin and another box on the washing machine. He snuck a glance back at Silver. _ _

_ _“I didn’t notice you had your ears pierced,” he said as an explanation, busying himself again by selecting tools and placing them in the cookie tin. _ _

_ _“Oh,” Silver self-consciously thumbed at the small silver hoops he had on a whim shoved into his lobes that morning. Every now and then, he would put some in long enough to stop the holes from closing and then took them out again, finding that his hair always tugged at them painfully. He had been meaning to invest in some that wouldn’t get caught, but there wasn’t anywhere to buy them on the island and he hadn’t gone to the mainland for a while. _ _

_ _He thought back to when he had gotten them done, one night at a party with Madi when he had been just drunk enough to let one of her friends get near his head with a very long and terrifying-looking needle. Madi had always said it made him look like a sexy pirate, which he doubted but appreciated anyway. _ _

_ _“Yeah. I don’t wear earrings much,” he said belatedly, watching as Flint compared two screwdrivers. _ _

_ _“You should,” Flint said after a moment, and Silver’s hand paused where he was still fiddling with his left earring. _ _

_ _“I should?” _ _

_ _“Yes,” Flint seemed content to not elaborate on that, calmly continuing with choosing one screwdriver over the other and placing it inside the cookie tin. _ _

_ _Before Silver could start to contemplate what on earth that meant, Flint tapped the lid shut with the palm of his hand and turned back to Silver, holding out the tin. _ _

_ _“Take this,” _ _

_ _Hesitantly, Silver reached forward and took it from him, startled by the warmth of Flint’s skin where their fingers overlapped. He loosened the top and peered inside. Flint had kitted it out with a functional set of wares, a mismatched, but well-ranged variety range of tools. _ _

_ _“It’s yours,” Flint said and Silver looked up at him. “These are all spares so I don’t need them. You might as well have them,” _ _

_ _“Oh,” he said dumbly, unsure what to do in the face on Flint’s generosity. He slid the lid back on, hands catching on the several dents and chips on the surface. _ _

_ _“Oh!” he repeated. “Well, technically this is Jack’s, I was just borrowing it...” he trailed off. _ _

_ _An unidentifiable emotion flickered over Flint’s face before it smoothed again. _ _

_ _“That’s fine. They can have it,” he said. _ _

_ _Silver contemplated that for a second. _ _

_ _“Or,” he began, tapping the tin with his nail. “I could just give them back what was already in there. I’m sure I can find a spare box lying around somewhere,” _ _

_ _Flint smiled. _ _

_ _“I’m sure you could,”_ _

_ _They stared at each other for a moment longer until Silver felt his face beginning to flush. He went to push his hair behind his ear, and upon finding no loose strands, let his hand drop back down awkwardly. _ _

_ _Was he meant to leave?_ _

_ _Flint made the decision for him._ _

_ _“I’ll see you out,” he said abruptly, walking past Silver and back into the living room._ _

_ _Silver stared after him for a second, before shaking his head, tucking the toolbox under his arm and making after him. Flint was already on the porch when he went through the house and towards the door; the light was off and he could only just see his silhouette through the fly-screen. It made him look like he was made of water, inconceivable and blurred at the edges. _ _

_ _Silver shouldered open the door, his crutch loud in the relative silence, the only other noises the far off crashing of waves and the continuous low hum of cicadas. _ _

_ _Flint hadn’t turned to look at him, so Silver made his way down the porch, adjusting to the new weight of the cookie tin. Toolbox. Cookie tin. He needed to decide on what to call it. A tool tin? He nodded absently to himself, deciding that was it. _ _

_ _He turned once he had reached the bottom, finding that Flint was already watching him. Silver raised his free hand in farewell. _ _

_ _Flint raised his own. They both stood, hands raised in the quiet, Flint backlit from the inside light, the yellow catching in his red hair and making it blaze. _ _

_ _Silver lowered his hand. _ _

_ _“I’ll see you,” he said, the words unintentionally quiet, but Flint seemed to have heard him. _ _

_ _“I’ll see you,” he repeated back and Silver faced forward, beginning down the road to his own house. He didn’t have to turn to see Flint closing his front door; the light being cast out into the night shuttered with it, the path dimming before him. _ _

_ _He sighed. These interactions with Flint were becoming a little...inconvenient. They were exasperating and confusing and the moment they finished he longed for another. They were keeping him distracted when his mind needed to be elsewhere. If he couldn’t keep his head on straight, he might end up doing something he would regret, whether it be pushing Flint away or pulling him closer. _ _

_ _ When he got home he discarded the tool tin on the kitchen bench and stood leaning against it, feeling the ache in his back come back from where he had shoved it to the back of his mind. He groaned, trying to stretch the pain out, giving up after a few minutes. _ _

_ _His laptop was still sitting abandoned on the coffee table and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he found the charger and plugged it in. Hopefully, then, it would get it’s shit together and be workable by the time he woke up. _ _

_ _Picking up where he had left off in his search, it took him another twenty minutes before he found the charger, for some absolutely inconceivable reason, shoved down the bottom of his laundry basket. He plugged it in violently, sighing in relief at the little red light that let him know there was at least some power going into the laptop. _ _

_ _He felt more lethargic as he prepared for bed, barely finding it in him to wash the salt and sand from his hair, water scalding hot in an attempt to soothe the painfully tight muscles in his back. Maybe tomorrow he would have to go to one of the side-of-the-road massage places that had local ladies working there with hands so strong they could undoubtedly snap his spine in half if they so chose. _ _

_ _He ended up dozing against the bathroom sink with his toothbrush hanging out of his open mouth, jerking himself awake from where his torso had begun to slowly sag forward and determinedly making it to his bedroom to collapse, still damp onto his bed. _ _

_ _His wet hair stuck to his skin as he drifted, half-lidded eyes watching the palm leaves shake in the light breeze through the window. Despite the two naps he had taken that day and the thoughts he had been ignoring bubbling up to the surface he found himself asleep without warning, towel still wrapped around his waist.   
-_ _

_ _He ended up dreaming, not of TV screens he couldn’t look away from, but of shifting shapes he couldn’t quite grasp, blurry and indistinct, the smooth slide of another’s skin, loud breath in his ear. It had been a while since he’d had a pleasant dream, the kind that left him buzzing and shaking, equal parts frustrated and satisfied. _ _

_ _He was pressed down by a lithe body, hot and heavy that arched and writhed as they ground they hips down to meet his. Madi. If he tried to open his eyes he could almost see her, mouth parted with want, the contrast of his hand tangled in her dark hair. He lost himself in it, the imagined scent of her soap that lingered in the junction between her neck and shoulder, the taste of her nipple under his tongue. _ _

_ _He tried to say her name and then she was moving away, leaving him on the edge. He tried grasping for her, coming into contact with someone different as they moved in where Madi had been, a callous rough hand grasping at his cock. He still couldn’t open his eyes, could only surrender to the teeth sinking into his neck, digging his fingers into a broad back, desperately grind up against the hard muscle. _ _

_ _“Kiss me,” he found himself saying and then then the tongue on his neck was licking its way into his mouth, another hand grasping roughly at his jaw, blunt nails cutting at his skin as they angled his face. _ _

_ _He felt the telltale pressure in his navel, the slow build steadily rising faster and faster. He moaned a warning into the mouth above his, his eyes flickering open for just a second, locks of auburn and piercing green eyes flooding his vision. He heard a voice in his ear, gruff and familiar in his ear, urging him to come._ _

_ _Silver woke with a start, pushed up and forward to sit in his surprise. He was breathing heavily, a light sheen of sweat covering his body, his cock achingly hard under the towel that was still stubbornly clinging to him. _ _

_ _“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, placing his head in his hands. _ _

_ _Goddamnit. _ _

_ _He lifted his head and ground a palm into his erection, hissing at the spike of pleasure that zinged up his spine. _ _

_ _Yeah, there was no ignoring this one. He sighed, flinging to towel carelessly to the floor, spitting into his hand and stroking himself, falling back onto the mattress at the touch. _ _

_ _“Oh, fuck,” he cursed, planting his feet on the bed and slinging an arm over his eyes, feeling ashamed at the dream, at the images flashing through his mind. If Flint knew what he was doing, he’d probably never speak to him again. _ _

_ _The thought of Flint watching him, his eyes shining and hungry as they travelled down Silver’s body, pale skin flushing all the way down his chest, suddenly sprung into his mind before he could banish it and he knew he was fucked. He was already too close from the dream and it only took another few strokes before he was coming, an unbidden moan tearing from his throat as he pictured doing it with Flint gaze heavy and oppressive on his skin. _ _

_ _“Shit,” he breathed as his body rode the aftershocks, gulping fresh air into his burning lungs. He shuddered a little as one last wave crashed through him, hips rocking into it. _ _

_ _“Ugh,” he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, unsticking the damp hair. As the high started to fade, he could feel his face steadily warm in response to what had just happened. _ _

_ _Having a dream about someone always made it...feel suddenly real. He could lie to himself as much as he liked, but his body and subconscious had no problem calling his bluff. _ _

_ _He had no idea how he would face Flint after this. Not when all he would be able to think of was if he kissed as he had in the dream, of rucking up his shirt to get his hands on all that glorious skin, of dropping to his knees to return to imagined favour. _ _

_ _Breaths finally coming evenly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, grimacing at the mess on his stomach. _ _

_ _“Ew,” he fished for the towel he had flung off and cleaned himself off before throwing it away again, content to deal with it in the morning. He laid back down. His eyelids were already heavy again, body sleepy in his post-orgasm haze. _ _

_ _He had a moment to be thankful he was about to konk out rather than lying awake turning over his thoughts before he was sucked back quickly into sleep, this time dreamless and deep. _ _

_ _

_ _-_ _

_ _When he woke again in the morning, his laptop was on. He approached it cautiously, like he would a wild animal, and hesitantly clicked on the mousepad. The fan began to whir madly. _ _

_ _“Oh no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he scampered backwards, hands raised in surrender. It was like the damn thing could smell his fear. After a few seconds, it appeared to calm down, giving him access to the login screen. When he typed in the password and it gave only minimal resistance he considered it a win. _ _

_ _The morning went along that line; waiting patiently for the startup pages to open while glaring from the kitchen, coaxing it into recognising the thumb drive, and only once hanging his head in despair when it crashed on him, but restarted relatively easily. _ _

_ _Maybe three hours had passed, including several breaks where he had to busy himself in the kitchen or work on his prosthesis to calm down lest he breaks the piece of shit in fury when he finally was able to open the encrypted files. _ _

_ _“Oh,” he said to himself, scrolling through. _ _

_ _Oh. Hands had not been lying when he had said the payment was generous. Very generous. _ _

_ _And the job was...risky, yes. Risky and stupid and dangerous...and it happened to pay very, very well. _ _

_ _He found himself wishing he could talk to Max about it, or Jack and Anne._ _

_ _He sat up straight, a thought suddenly rushing through his mind too fast to disregard. _ _

_ _He could tell Max. If he was planning on using this money again Rogers…_ _

_ _He stood, mind suddenly made up. He snatched the thumb drive from the laptop, tucked it securely into his pocket and then collected his prosthesis, strapping it quickly to his leg. _ _

_ _Before he could consider it more, he was out the door, anxious, but strangely certain in what he was doing, confident that this was the right thing to do. _ _

_ _When he reached the inn, it was quiet, after most of the breakfast patrons having left already, with the exception of a few people lazing about, getting started on their day drinking. He ignored them, instead crossing the floor determinedly. _ _

_ _Max was behind the bar, counting a wad of cash from the till and she looked up as he reached it, laying his hands flat on the polished wood. _ _

_ _“Can we talk?” he asks and she frowned, before placing the money back into the till and shutting it, nodding. She motioned to Charlotte to take her place as they went out into the hallway and through to the office. Her heels clicked loudly on the floorboards as he closed the door behind them, muffling the lingering sounds from the inn and the kitchen. She moved to sit behind her desk, watching him curiously as he sat in the opposite chair. _ _

_ _“What is it?” she asked, crossing her legs. _ _

_ _He fiddled for a moment, pushing down the sudden wave of nervousness, fishing out the thumb drive. He placed it in the middle of the desk and then gave it a push, making it slide over towards her. Her hand came up to catch it before it flew off the edge, frowning down at it. _ _

_ _She looked up, raising an eyebrow. _ _

_ _“I may have a way of getting us some money,” he said. _ _

_ _Max looked back down at the thumb drive, flicking it up and studying it for a second before her eyes met his again. _ _

_ _She smiled._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one ends a bit abruptly so my bad for that. thanks for reading! xxx
> 
> as usual, hit me up on [tumblr! ](https://australianandafraid.tumblr.com)


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